Age of Pretense
by eolianstar
Summary: [FE6&7] Two thousand years after the Great Movement of Bern, a modern Lycian scholar searching for truth discovers a lead in the form of a mysterious girl abandoned by time and memory. In an Elibe where magic and dragons belong only in mythology, a single act of kindness will once again engulf the world in international crisis.
1. 0 Sea of Faces

_**An Age of Pretense**_

eolianstar

Fire Emblem: The Sealed Sword/The Blazing Sword

A/N_: There has been a lot of large changes to this story in a really short amount of time, so I've made the necessary edits from the previous version and am re-uploading it with the new chapter. Thank you for your interest!_

- o -

In a lonely apartment in the center of Pherae, a young green-eyed girl peered out of her unfurnished window. Frail steam from the cup in her hand spun into her misty breath and tumbled against the cold glass. She watched the changing patterns unblinkingly as they swirled on top of her reflection. The room was dark, but the eerie light from outside cast a bluish haze that swallowed her body.

Arbitrarily prompted, she set down her cup and unlatched the window and opened it with a creak. A surf of cold wind blew inside and sent shivers crawling up her forearms. Putting her head through the opening, she shivered as the breeze whisked through her long, thick magenta hair. Pressing a few fingers at her temple keep the strands out of her gaze, she looked out at the million lights winking back at her. A siren echoed somewhere a few blocks away, and shadows of people passed the streets. Following the outline of buildings with her eyes, she raised her gaze until they met an empty sky.

Thousands of miles away in a cluttered hotel room in Aquleia, a man sat on a king-sized bed with a laptop computer balanced on his knee. The light from the monitor reflected off of the surface of his glasses, concealing his eyes beneath. After a few moments of tense staring at the screen, he groaned and ran a hand through his black hair, almost risking the laptop's fall from its precarious position.

With a despondent demeanor he closed it and began to unlace his tie. The television hummed on its low volume, where a politician was speaking animatedly onscreen to a room full of flashing camera lights and important-looking people. As the applause rolled on, the man in the hotel room stared blankly at it for a moment, but was then diverted when the coffee machine began to choke and sputtered scalding liquid all over the table.

Even further off, far away in the fields of Sacae there was a youth feeding his dog leftover scraps of meat. The night was clean and silent there and only the moon provided the necessary light. Nothing obstructed the view of the horizon or took away the glory of the stars. The young man sat upon the vacant hill and pondered the folk heroes of his childhood.

In a similar way there were others: a dark-haired Bernese woman waiting in a café someplace in Lycia, an Etrurian teenager laying awake in bed somewhere in Bern. These faces were a few of the millions that went to sleep that night in Elibe, the year of 3012.

Pherae was the heart; the girl beside her window hardly knew the passage of time. The eternity and ephemerality of each second held no meaning for her, just as she was of no consequence to the passage of time. But as events would come to pass, she would one day speak on behalf of the nations. But this night was empty, cold, lonely, insignificant... That day would come, but later, much later.

With a dark expression, she lay her lukewarm cup upon the counter and closed the window. The morning would soon come, and perhaps it too would be a better day.

Meanwhile, just a few streets away from where she locked herself away, a boy rubbed his eyes and yawned, closing the book in his desk. After thrusting the book in his bag he jumped on his bed and made his way under the layers of blankets. Though waves of crimson hair fell into his azure gaze, he easily reached over the table and turned out the light in the blink of an eye.


	2. I The Missing Link

_**Age of Pretense**_

by eolianstar

Fire Emblem: The Blazing Sword and The Sealed Sword

**PRIORITY MAIL**

**TO THE LYCIAN ALLIANCE COUNCIL**

**SENT**: 20:51 31/09/3012

**SUBJECT**: THE ETRURIAN EXPEDITION

_Dear Delegate Osman,_

_ I have investigated the books in the ancient vaults of the recently discovered library in Aquleia. I have found a good deal of information, and a full report will be sent in a few days. However, I will tell you truthfully - despite my own opinions - that these findings alone will not be deemed factually accurate. In addition, I found at length quite a few tomes written in a dead language that even I could not read, and I could not find anybody in Etruria's Erudite Guild who could read them either. Nevertheless, a detailed account will be mailed to Ostia in at most a week._

_ Also, I beg the Council's forgiveness for my untimely impediment to Ostia. I must stop by Pherae for an important appointment. I believe that I have discovered something else that may be of interest. But until I confirm these suspicions, they will not yet be disclosed. I thank you for your tolerance._

_Lord Orion of the Etruscan Parliament greets you. _

_E . LYMAN _

- o -

_**I. The Missing Link**_

It was a gray, blustering afternoon on Karon avenue. The wind scented of rain and coming storm as the clouds billowed restlessly over the bleak city, blowing scraps of paper and dust into the lanes. There was an eerie silence settling in the vacant streets.

In the valley between the row of buildings, a faded sign stood at its post on the corner of the intersection between the districts of Pherae and Tarnia. Beneath the battered words, a solitary figure gazed across the street. She stood hesitantly, her feet abut to the very edge of the sidewalk. If anyone had been around to see her, his eyes would have been immediately drawn to her hair. Shining locks of magenta curved about her chin and shoulders, sharply contrasting to the grayscale quality of her surroundings. Her eyes were like large emeralds beneath the tresses.

Though there were no vehicles, it seemed that she still found the need to pause and wait for the light to change. When the bright white signal lit up, she proceeded to cross to the other side.

She wore a dark coat over austere clothing and held a small bouquet of lilies in her right hand. There was a plastic black hairclip in her hair on the left side of her head, and a charm on a chain around her neck. Her age was undeterminable; though her face was full of youth, she held herself with mature dignity. The closest estimate, according to appearance, would be either fourteen or fifteen years.

She was still a minuscule figure before the wide, black iron gates of Pherae Castle. No lord officially held the throne, none had for nearly a century. Modern renovations on the decrepit castle were in the feeble process of maintaining the authenticity of the old architecture. Small patches of flowers garnished the path to the entrance of the palace. Iron benches were evenly spaced on the cobbled walkway, each brick inscribed with the name of a family who had donated money to the memorial. The girl, however, merely looked through the iron bars of the gate curiously before walking passed it altogether.

Beyond the castle, there was a cemetery and tombs for the old lords of Pherae. Though it was never renowned for its opulence - as the provinces of Etruria sometimes were - Pherae held great dignity for its former marquises. The tomb of Lord Eliwood was no exception, though, many historians did believe that the old texts had overly exaggerated his extravagant mourning. Still, the tomb was scrupulously built, and it was likely that the architects who had designed it would have turned in their graves if they had seen that their work was reduced to perpetual tourism and gawking. Tours of the palace and the burial places had become the main source of revenue for the Pheraen government.

She stepped on the marble floor of the branching tombs, looking to her right and left at the white statuettes of Pheraen nobles. She passed by Lord Eliwood's tomb and stopped to read a sign left for free-roaming tourists. There were walls of glass showcases on either side of the hall, exhibiting old artifacts and portraits. She turned away and moved down the corridor until she finally arrived at her destination.

A single stone monument was erected in the center of the circle-shaped chamber. It was almost like a large granite tombstone, polished so that she could see her pale reflection on its surface. Words were etched at the center, with a framed portrait above it. A shaft of murky light fell through the circular window above, shining upon the ground in a picturesque manner. Excitedly, she kneeled down to read the words.

_ROY THE GREAT_

_GENERAL OF THE LYCIAN ALLIANCE_

_FATHER OF PHERAE_

After reading the inscription, she looked up at an old oil portrait of the man himself, greeted by those clear sapphire eyes and that tousled red hair. He wore that silken headband upon his brow and a violet cloak that draped over his shoulders and arms. Each stroke gave the details of the genuine sincerity of his expression, the vibrancy of his character.

He looked exactly how she remembered him. She watched it with longing, shining eyes, her mind lost in memory. After a while, she traced the inscription on the monument with her fingers, her face alight as if she had met someone she had not seen in years.

"Hullo Roy," she said, her highly-pitched voice sweet. She was smiling brightly, a smile reminiscent of a former happiness. "Idoun says hello too, I'm sure. She's gone now." She lowered her green gaze. "Everybody's gone."

The clock in the hall ticked loudly, and in a few minutes, the bells from the towers of the palace began to toll. Even as they sang their broad tones, the girl continued to stroke her hand across the inscription, smiling as she revisited old memories. Eventually the notes faded away and were replaced by footsteps.

Someone was down the hallway, coming toward Lord Roy's memorial. She was unmoving, giving no indication to whether she could hear the footsteps or not. Instead, she carefully laid the lilies down on the base of the monument, and slowly got to her feet.

A man entered the memorial room, cautiously stepping to a side. He was black-haired and tall in stature, seeming to be in his early to mid-thirties. He wore a white collared shirt cuffed at the sleeves and a tie, and held his black jacket on the crook of his arm. On his shoulder slung a laptop case and in one hand he held a folded umbrella.

The man stopped and studied the girl at the base of the memorial, seemingly intrigued by her. Waiting for a few more seconds, he adjusted his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose.

"Miss Fae?"

She turned her head, her large eyes shining in the dim light.

"Hello," she said innocently. "You're Ezekiel Lyman, right?"

"It's a pleasure to meet you," the man named Ezekiel Lyman replied with a smile and a friendly inclination of the head. "I see you've received my invitation. Thank you for taking the time to see me. I understand you're in a bit of legal trouble. I think perhaps that I can help you."

The girl named Fae turned fully around, and Ezekiel Lyman realized at once that there was something very odd about her mannerisms. He hid his satisfied smile in the gesture of raising his glasses.

"You'll be my friend?" Fae asked, a strange smile lighting her face. "That's good. I need friends."

He chose not to say anything to this peculiar statement. Instead, he looked at his watch and kindly invited her to lunch.

- o -

"If I am to understand your situation," Ezekiel Lyman was saying while looking through the documents of a manila envelope, "your older sister was your legal guardian and you two have been living in Pherae for three years. Your sister passed away a year ago, and you have been living by yourself since."

"Mm," Fae replied, very distracted. She was watching the water stream down the glass windows, warping the images of people and dark umbrellas. They were sitting at a table in a casual restaurant a block away from Pherae Castle.

"And you never declared your sister's death – so you've been living alone as a minor for this long. But the issue has finally been raised to the authorities, and you are in need of a legal guardian. You have no other relatives, correct?"

Fae paused before answering, as the sound of someone dropping a plate somewhere caught her attention. "None."

"And is there anybody you know that could take you in?"

"No – I don't think so."

"So everything I've stated earlier is accurate?"

"Yes."

"Good. Oh, thank you." The waitress came with their beverages. Fae looked at they crystal glasses, at the cubes of ice dancing and clinking against the sides. They were silent for a moment, with Fae looking distractedly into the glasses and Ezekiel Lyman studying her carefully.

"You are probably wondering who I am, and what sort of proposition I'm bringing you," he said finally, tearing the paper wrapping off the straws supplied by the waitress. As he slipped the straws into their drinks, Fae looked up at him. "Actually, I'm a professor at the University of Ostia. I have surprisingly thorough connections both politically and academically, and I was brought upon your case during a conversation with an attorney friend of mine. As you can imagine, there was something interesting about your case that caused me to pursue its investigation personally."

"What do you teach?" Fae asked curiously, sipping her iced lemonade. She made a face as if it were too sour, and began to pick through the small container filled with sugar and artificial sweetener packets.

"Elibean History and Classical Studies" the man replied patiently, despite the fact that she was straying from his point. He fiddled with his pen, twiddling it between his fingers. "Though I teach history that is primarily Post-Scouring, I also have a keen interest in the ancient times. Particularly of the dragons." His expression was impassive, but there was a sparkle in his eye that seemed to goad her on. At this, she looked up at him and paused from dumping the contents of another sugar packet into her drink.

"Dragons!"

"Yes." His reply was a whisper and a hand gesture that could have been the general direction of Pherae Castle. "They say that Lord Roy of Pherae and his father were both involved with them, long ago."

_Yes_, Fae stared him in the eye and wanted to scream to him and tell him everything. _Yes!_

"But of course, such things are only fairy tales," Professor Lyman said, with that gleam still in his eye as he leaned back. "A mere metaphor in the figurative language of classical literature."

Fae dropped her head on her arms, disappointed. And she reached for another packet of sugar.

"But I digress. Going back to our former, more grim topic..." He itched his brow and looked back into the manila folder. Fae stirred the contents of her glass with the straw. A few times it seemed as if he wanted to say something, but he always closed his mouth and distracted himself with what he was reading. Fae tried her drink again, and made the same facial expression as before.

"Is it so bad for me to live by myself?" Fae asked finally, tilting her head to one side. The professor looked over the rim of his glasses at her, and shifted his position in his seat, crossing his leg.

"Is that what you want?" he asked her quietly, his voice gentle. Fae tore another sugar packet open. As they both watched her sweeten her lemonade for perhaps the third or fourth time, she finally answered.

"No."

Ezekiel Lyman closed the manila folder.

"Well then... would you like to come live with me in Ostia?" he asked suddenly. She looked up at him.

"With you? Ostia? Really?"

"Yes. The legal documents state that in the case of a minor with no relative or friend who can take him or her under their guardianship, any outside benefactor may take on that role. I will be more than willing to do so."

"Ostia! Oh, I've never been there before!"

He smiled at her. She had such a simple train of thought. What charming naivete – that she would be so willing to accept help from a complete stranger. It certainly made things easier for him.

"Would you like that?"

"I would... have to leave Pherae..." She frowned and pursed her lips, as if in thought. He watched her closely and leaned down slightly to match her level.

"Is something wrong?"

"Sophia had told Fae that she saw Fae in a big city. Could the big city be Ostia?" She muttered, but he could barely catch her words.

"Pardon me?"

Fae suddenly shook her head and looked up at him, and he saw in full those shockingly green eyes. He nearly pulled back in alarm.

"I want to go to Ostia. Can we go back to my home first? Now?" she asked.

"Now? We haven't yet ordered lunch..." he said in surprise.

"But I'm not hungry."

Professor Lyman looked into those large eyes, that shy smile.

"If you wish," he acceded, and picked up his umbrella, holding it out toward her. "We'll grab something to eat later. Take this – I'll go take care of the bill."

She nodded, took his umbrella and went toward the door. Before gathering his things, he paused and looked at her glass of lemonade. Out pure curiosity, he took a sip and instantly made a face.

Not because it was too sour. On the contrary, it was painfully sweet.

**LYCIAN BUREAU OF RESIDENCE**

**IDENTIFICATION **

**NAME: **, FAE

**DATE OF BIRTH: **20/11/98

**NATIONALITY: **LYCIAN

**SEX: **FEMALE

**MARITAL STATUS: **SINGLE

**ADDRESS: **1452 N. WINCHESTER APT# 27

**CITY: **PHERAE

ARCHIVED ON 07/05/08


	3. II The Governor's Daughter

**Age of Pretense**

eolianstar

Fire Emblem: The Sealed Sword/The Blazing Sword

- o -

_**FAX MESSAGE**_

_**TO: LYCIAN SOCIAL SERVICES OF OSTIA** _

_**SENT**: 10:03 05/10/3012_

_**SUBJECT**: FAE ARCADIA _

_Fae managed to slip out unnoticed again yesterday while under surveillance. She has proven herself quite the escape artist, but Dr. Lyman was graciously able to retrieve her for us. He also turned in the paperwork to the Pheraen Branch this morning. It has been approved and I have appended all the necessary documentation to this fax message for State records. _

_Please assign a social worker to continue communicating with Dr. Lyman. We are concerned about Fae's ability to academically and socially adjust into the public education system, especially into one as competitive as Ostia's. It appears she has had no prior schooling, and she has a history of scaring the other children at the center with her unusual mannerisms. All of her information is also included in the following documents._

_Please let us know if you need any additional information or contacts. Thank you._

- o -

_I. The Governor's Daughter_

The two figures slipped silently through the hall, a dark blanket shared between them to cover their heads. It was perhaps a few hours before midnight, but the moon was strangely bright and cast glowing rectangles from the open windows. They purposefully stepped close to the wall, away from the shining glass, staying within the safe confines of the shadows.

The one who appeared to be leading the charge was a young lady with long blonde hair shining silvery in the darkness. Her face was solemnly cast at the moment, her eyes squinted with determination, her brow furrowed as she concentrated on the steps in front of her. She was pretty and had a round, heart-shaped face and pale complexion. Although her simple white t-shirt and cloth shorts accurately suggested that she had just gotten out of bed, she moved with an almost regal posture.

She was grasping the hand of the teenaged boy behind her, and with the resemblance that they shared between them, he could only have been her brother. His identically colored hair fell into his eyes as he allowed her to direct his steps, and he too, was frowning, but more with disapproval than with concentration. He was only a little taller than the girl, and he seemed to be the younger of the two.

Unlike his sister, he was dressed to go out. He wore a dark green jacket with large pockets on the chest, and there was a book bag slung over one shoulder. In his hand, he was clutching a book with a gleaming golden cover close to his chest.

He pursed his lips as they hurried along, occasionally stumbling, occasionally fumbling with the blanket over his head. As they made the turn around the corner, he lagged a little too long and his sister harshly pulled on his hand.

"Irene!" he hissed, the frown deepening as irritation flashed across his face. "Slow down!" Her grip on his hand tightened, and though she didn't say anything, they did slow down.

When they reached the bottom of a staircase, the glass windows and the exit into the garden patio were in full view. Irene directed them the door, look around carefully, and opened it as quietly as she could.

It was cold outside, being well into autumn now. The brother noticed the goose bumps rising on his sister's arms as they stepped out into the night. He slipped out from the shelter of the blanket and held it to her so she could wrap it around herself.

"There's an opening in the wall over there," Irene said quickly, pointing towards the corner of the large garden. They could barely make out the outline of the garden wall beyond the trees and statuettes. The yard and plants were well kept, but Bern castle was very old. The brother remembered Lysander Farey remarking that it had survived the days of the Scouring, though it had experienced many more wars and renovations since then.

"Irene," he began, anxiously thumbing the pages of his book. She looked at him, her blue eyes piercing, even in that darkness.

"Get going. I left a lot of money in your bag, so you should be able to take a train to Ostia and have enough left over to find food and a place to stay for a while."

"Irene," he said, a little more loudly. "I don't think I should leave you here." The girl laughed bitterly and shook her head, wrapping the blanket closer to herself.

"You don't understand, do you, Lionel? Things are soon going to get out of hand. Lenore's death was always just the beginning. You have to find someone to help. You have to go now."

"Stop that!" he snapped, the anxiety giving way to anger. "Don't talk about it like that! And we're alone now, you don't have to-"

"I know," Irene said, and Lionel recognized the sadness in her stern expression. "But you can't forget who you are now, who I am now. You know what Lysander and the Way are capable of. You have to get away from here- you have to find that girl that you saw. Don't you believe yourself?"

Lionel opened his mouth with a retort on his tongue, but the voice cut him off before the first word even began.

_Go._

It was not quite audible, but it was clear, very firm, and lingered like a drawn out note in his mind. He sucked in a sharp breath and gave a short nod.

"Yeah."

"Good." Irene twisted a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Then, she gave him a quick hug, followed by a gentle push. "Hurry and go. Take care of yourself, all right?"

He watched her for a moment, feeling both afraid and ashamed.

"Be careful, Irene. I'll… I'll be praying for you."

- o -

They sat across from each other on the train, with Ezekiel tapping away at his computer and Fae leaning with her nose close to the glass, a small shoebox in her lap. She only had one piece of luggage-a badly battered old suitcase that was the color of an old wine stain.

Her small, run-down apartment had been mostly empty, though the door was plastered with eviction notices. It was in a rough part of town… he was quite taken aback that a girl was staying by herself in such a place. As he critically studied the flat, Fae had pulled out the shoebox from under one of the beds, brushing off the dust and cobwebs lovingly.

Ezekiel hadn't inquired about the contents of the box, and Fae never let it out of her sight. She had kept it with her even on her one trip to the train lavatory.

When the snack trolley came by, he chose a cup of coffee for himself and a milk chocolate bar- one of the expensive ones imported from Bern-for Fae. As he mixed the cream and Fae gingerly peeled back the thick paper wrapper, he ventured upon a little small talk.

"Are you excited to go to Ostia?" Fae licked some melted chocolate from her fingertips. He observed her carefully, as if studying every gesture and mannerism.

"I've heard a lot about it. I've just never gone."

"Have you always lived in Pherae, then?"

"No."

"I didn't think so- you have a surname that is rather unusual. I don't even think it's Lycian. Where are you from?" Ezekiel continued to casually type on his computer, and Fae looked directly at him. The brim of her pink plaid hat was drawn close to her eyebrows, but it did nothing to shield him from the weight of her large green eyes.

"It's a little hard to explain."

He glanced over at her with a sly smile, taking a sip of his coffee.

"You are quite mysterious for such a young girl."

Fae smiled a strange, knowing smile. Then she looked away, and he realized he had been holding his breath.

"As you have things that you're purposefully keeping from me, Ezekiel Lyman. I would say you're just as mysterious."

Ah, he thought, and his smile widened. He adjusted his glasses, the light from the window creating an opaque glare on his lens. Perhaps she was not as helpless and naïve as he had originally accessed.

"Please. Call me Zeke."

- o -

The friendly voice over the intercom announced their arrival to the Lycian capital half the day later, after the sun had long descended below the horizon. The landscape had been flat and mostly agricultural along the way, but as they neared the city, the suburbs began to crawl across the window. Fae kept faithful vigil, gazing at the passing scenery, her hand on top of the shoebox in her lap. Ezekiel slept with his fist in his cheek, his temple rocking against the wall as the train car shuddered along its track.

He opened his eyes after the voice clicked off, sleepily shifting his eyes towards the window. The cityscape had already dominated the view, the power lines, rising highways and buildings crowding together, vying for space in the small rectangular glass. There were so many lights: fluorescent residential windows, flashing neon signs, flickering streetlamps.

For Zeke, everything was so familiar. Though he himself was born in one of the Ostian suburbs, the majority of his childhood and adolescence was spent in downtown Ostia. For Fae, it was overwhelming. She backed off from her previously intimate closeness to the window, as if trying to take in the sight more easily. Zeke chuckled at the expression of wonderment exhibited by her face.

"We're home."

The girl was still, saying nothing. The image of her struck him then, and it struck him as almost permanently etched in his mind, as if he were glimpsing something that stood independent of time. The lights flashed across her body, the nose and lips of her profile just barely visible beyond the gleaming tips of hair. One leg was drawn under her, rumpling her skirt, and her socks unevenly scrunched at the ankles. She seemed so human… and yet not.

When she moved, he was jarred from the vision of her, and the world in the train resolved back into reality as he knew it. He found himself looking into her eyes again, and this time, he welcomed the heaviness that came with them. When she smiled, the weight lifted a little.

"Home."

She was clearly seeing something else as she said that word. Zeke stretched and casually brushed off the strange tension in their compartment, as if he hadn't noticed. But he would never forget it.

"Yes, it'll be nice to finally be back. I haven't been in Ostia in… goodness, maybe three months." He parted the dark hair away from his face. Fae looked at him curiously.

"Where have you been?"

"I was invited to Mildain University as a guest researcher. There was library discovered buried in beneath Aquleia recently, with thousands of books. Many of them have decayed beyond salvaging, but there were still some very beautiful ones that had withstood the test of time. Completely unreadable, however."

"Oh?"

"They were in a completely unrecognizable language. Many of the Etruscan scholars believe that it's an older writing system that maybe even predates the Scouring."

Fae leaned against the back of the seat, bracing herself as the train slowed. The friendly woman chimed in from the speaker in the ceiling once again, announcing the name of the station and the time. Ezekiel let out a breath, and tapped both hands on his armrests before getting up.

"Well, we should go. You must be tired. I have a guest bedroom at my flat that you can stay in. I haven't had guests in a while. Although now, I suppose that room belongs to you."

He slid open the overhead compartment to retrieve their luggage. Fae got to her feet, stretching while carefully securing the shoebox under one arm.

"You live by yourself?" Zeke lowered her old bag onto the floor and began to reach for his own black leather bag.

"Not unless you count the cat."

When they had all their belongings accounted for, Zeke pulled the rod from his own bag to drag it, and carried Fae's bag by the leather handles. As soon as they disembarked onto the platform, Fae looked at him a little sheepishly.

"Can we stop by the restroom before we go?" The professor responded by asking the conductor for the location of the nearest lavatory, and thanked him after receiving the directions.

The Ostia International Train Station was undoubtedly the largest in the Lycian League. It serviced routes that wound through all of Elibe, and Fae was quick to notice the diversity of the travelers quickly making their way to and from the platforms. Craning her head she looked at all the shops and restaurants lining the halls (most of them being closed, it was rather late now), and peered across the crowds to look at bobbing rows of colorful heads. Some were dressed smartly and strode with business confidence, others looked tired and cranky from the ride.

They came to the place where the men's and women's bathrooms were side by side, a trash receptacle situated between the two entrances. Fae gave a short wave to Zeke and slipped inside, her box still tucked under her arm. Zeke stopped at the large, rounded pillar across from the hall, and set down Fae's bag. He sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and checked the time on his wristwatch.

Out of nowhere, a scrawny boy burst out of the crowd, and in his hurry, lost his balance and collided straight into Ezekiel. He let out a startled yell, dropping the book he was holding in his hands.

The older man recovered quickly and caught the youngster in both hands, steadying him.

"Easy there," Zeke began, but the boy yanked himself out of the professor's grasp, as if his very touch was repulsive to him. He looked to be maybe only a little older than Fae, no doubt a high school student. He had short golden hair and very clear, blue eyes. Sort of like glass marbles, Zeke thought, admiring their clarity. He was a rather pretty boy.

"S-sorry!" the intruder gasped, his Etruscan accent clearly pronounced even in that one word, and he raised his palms as if to apologize for daring to touch Zeke. He seemed in quite a hurry- there was something urgent in his face, and his cheeks were blushed with running. He began to take off again, but Zeke noticed the book on the ground and shouted back at him, stooping to pick it up.

"Wait! You dropped some-" he stared at the book, slowly raising it to look at its golden spine more closely. The teenager squawked and turned back, snatching it out of his hands with such ferocity that Zeke was taken aback by his rudeness. Without thanking him or saying anything more, the boy fled in the direction he had been heading before the collision.

Without thinking, Zeke ran after him, leaving Fae's luggage and his own at the pillar. He saw the blonde head dipping between the narrowing gaps of people in the crowd, but being less agile and a little bigger, he had a hard time maneuvering with the same sort of grace. "Wait!" He shouted pointlessly, trying to elbow his way through.

He was a stubborn man, however, and this was far too important for him to give up so easily. Without even thinking back on the bags he had abandoned, or even about what Fae would think if he had suddenly disappeared, he continued, on, his eyes peeled for that golden hair.

- o -

What Fae did first think, upon noticing the pillar with their bags unattended, was that perhaps Ezekiel had gone to get something from one of the concession stands. She stood next to their things and waited patiently, people-watching as she was fond of doing. As time went on a little longer, she became a little more concerned, anxiously filtering through the unfamiliar faces as she twisted her hair around her finger.

After some time passed, she began to panic internally, and her nerves moved her to action. She zipped up her jacket and stuffed the shoebox into it, at the moment too worried to care about how awkwardly it jutted out from her petite frame. Grasping her bag by the handlebars, she tugged on Zeke's extendable rod and dragged it behind her.

The bags were heavy, and halfway down the hall she was winded. She could feel already how slick her face and chest were getting as the heat contained in her jacket caused the shoebox to sag. She felt the power in that box, however, though this human body was so weak. She tried to take comfort in that, though her fingers strained against the leather handles and the rolling luggage nipped at her heels sometimes.

She was not exactly sure where she was going, but she knew she was going in the right direction. As she tugged onto the belongings and huffed on, she stopped next to a bar where suddenly a small group of older man burst into laughter. She dropped her bag and wiped her brow, checking to be sure her box was in place as she took a deep breath.

"Would you like some assistance, miss?"

Fae cautiously left the box where it was at and looked up to see a man lingering nearby, out of the flow of pedestrian traffic. He was very smartly dressed, in a suit and tie and all, and had well-groomed, dark teal hair. His goatee was full and cleanly trimmed, and for all things appearance-wise, he was very well put-together. Fae's first instinct was to drop her things and run.

"Uh, I…" she began. He laughed and bent down to grasp the old-wine colored bag. She flinched and stepped back, catching a whiff of his expensive cologne.

"Where to?"

- o -

When Zeke returned, he had expected Fae to be waiting for him there. So when she and their belongings were gone, he grit his teeth and mentally kicked himself for allowing his curiosity to get the best of him. The kid was long gone… Zeke had searched for at least fifteen minutes, but for all he knew, the boy had already escaped into the Ostian night.

Idiotic, the professor thought with a wry smile. Well. Perhaps he ought to inform the station security. Surely Fae would not have left the premises without him.

He lingered in that area for a moment, his hands on his waist, peering between the rows of travelers. When he had enough of waiting, he went towards the entrance to the station, to find a help desk where he might be able to find help. He was a stubborn man… but he was not too proud to know when he ought to seek the necessary resources.

"Dr. Ezekiel Lyman."

The voice came from behind him, and it was in a drawl that he unfortunately recognized. As he pivoted in place, he saw that perfectly photogenic face, the expensive suit and shining black shoes. He was carrying Fae's bag in one hand, dragging Zeke's own bag in the other. He was smiling, looking all to pleased to have found Zeke in such a sheepish state.

The professor was unshaken, however. He grinned instead, and adjusted his glasses as if appraising the newcomer.

"Lysander Farey. Or rather, it's governor now, isn't it? What a coincidence, we were just on our way back from Pherae."

Fae swiftly strode to Ezekiel's side, clearly expressing her preference of company. She ignored the fact that her belongings were still in the stranger's possession, but her jacket was still bulging with the shoebox. That was all that mattered to her.

"Were you?" Lysander Farey looked at Fae with renewed interest, a question clearly shining in his eyes. "And who is this lovely young woman? A student of yours?"

"Oh no," Zeke said, placing a hand on Fae's shoulder. It was the first time he ever touched her, and she almost jumped. It had been a while since anybody had touched her, actually… She looked curiously at him, but he kept a steady smile, in spite of the growing tension. "She was a ward of the state, but has come under my care now, as things happen to be. Although I suppose you are no stranger to such things. I heard that you yourself came to adopt two orphans from Etruria."

The corner of Lysander's mouth pricked up just slightly.

"My - I know what you must be thinking. It was, after all, a charitable deed performed in public by a politician running for office… but I assure you, my intentions were not completely political. I was a personal acquaintance of the children's late mother. But that's not so important right now- I was just ensuring that this young lady got to where she needed to be. If she is under your care, I would hope you exercise better supervision over her in the future."

Fae felt a flash of anger on Zeke's behalf, as well as her own. But Ezekiel merely chuckled and responded in a way she truly appreciated.

"Fae is old enough to take care of herself, even if the state doesn't acknowledge her legally. She doesn't need another adult to watch and dictate her every move- let alone some old, blundering absent-minded professor. But thank you for your help, governor. I'll relieve you of those bags now."

As they made the exchange, the tension in the air broke a little with the movement. Ezekiel, still smiling amiably, made a nod to the governor. "Well, it was nice seeing you again. I hope your business in Ostia goes well."

Lysander's eyes were steely, though he too, was smiling. "Good bye," he seemed to say to Fae, and she averted her gaze under her hat.

"Strange, isn't it?" Zeke asked, when they had almost reached the revolving glass doors leading out to the busy main street. "Why would the Pheraean governor be here, by himself, unattended?"

Fae kept close to her guardian, and she dared to steal a glance over her shoulder.

"That man is very bad."

"You have no idea," Zeke muttered.

- o -

Lionel gasped and leaned with his knuckles on his knees to catch his breath. His book was still clenched in his hand, and the binding felt slippery against his sweaty palms. He was out in a dank, poorly lit street, and he was by himself. It was not a good area, he realized, as he saw the barred windows and the colorful, profane graffiti. He had run for a long time, even after he was sure that he was out of sight. He couldn't take any chances.

"What is he doing here?" he asked the darkness, and he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Irene never told him that he would be in Ostia too… perhaps she hadn't known.

Irene... He closed his eyes, feeling more afraid for her than ever. "Just my dumb luck…"

"Or stupidity."

Lionel whirled around, and saw the gleam of a blade in the dim light from the street. A man, not quite middle-aged, but not really young either, was brandishing a knife in one hand. He was smiling eerily as he twirled it casually between his fingers. "Didn't your mother ever teach you not to walk into dark alleys late a night?"

The boy backed up, very conscious of the looming wall a few feet behind him. He spoke quietly, a slight tremor in his voice. "My mother's dead."

"Well, all the better then, with no one to miss you at home, eh? And you're a pretty one, for a boy. And Etruscan, to boot. If you come quietly, we'll treat you real nice. There's good business for young ones like you in some parts."

Lionel didn't want to even imagine what sort of business the man had in mind, but he wasn't stupid. The moment the realization hit, a sudden fury broke out over him so that he was much more angry than frightened. He stopped backing up, and looked the man straight in the eye, his brow deepening into a fierce frown..

"You… Sort like you don't deserve to even live."

The man looked taken aback, as if his ability to intimidate had been his prime weapon. "What?"

"Preying on those weaker than you, discarding the lives of others for your own gain… it's disgusting." He laid one hand on the book cover. The assailant grinned a crooked, sinister grin.

"I'd hate to leave a cut on your pretty face, but it looks like you need to learn your place. Come here, kid!" Before he could lunge with his arm wound back to deliver the blow, Lionel pulled open the book, the pages fluttering beneath expert fingers. The ancient words flowed through his hands, his eyes, his innermost thoughts. All that was left was light.

The man stopped in his tracks. Lionel drew back his own hand, and with authority, called upon the power of the heavens.

"_Divine_!"

As he thrust out his hand, palm outstretched, a beam of light fell upon the man with perfect accuracy. Lionel had seen the spell cast against someone only once before, and it was a memory he had tried desperately not to relive. The smell of scorching flesh, the perfect cleansing and purification of man's innate sinfulness... they were burned forever in his mind. The man did not even have time to scream before his body fell in a steaming lump on the ground, still radiant and sparking. Lionel pushed himself against the wall, the pages of the open book in his hand still ruffling. He snapped the tome shut, and closed his eyes, holding his breath as he had just realized what he had done.

_I'm sorry. I_… his mind blurted out, as if he expected someone to sharply reprimand him.

He waited like that, his mind reeling, his breath slowing, but the voice said nothing, as he both feared and hoped it might not. Slowly, he picked up his bag that had fallen off his shoulder, stuffed the book inside of it, and ran out of the alley, into the night.

**LYCIAN BUREAU OF RESIDENCE**

**IDENTIFICATION **

**NAME**: LYMAN, EZEKIEL CEDRIC

**DATE OF BIRTH**: 20/11/77

**NATIONALITY**: LYCIAN

**SEX**: MALE

**MARITAL STATUS**: SINGLE

**ADDRESS**: 2707 UNIVERSITY DR., APT# 213

**DISTRICT**: OSTIA

ARCHIVED ON 31/09/00


	4. III The University of Ostia

**Age of Pretense**

Fire Emblem: The Sword of Seals and the Blazing Sword

by eolianstar

**THE OSTIA DAILY**

**Tuesday, The 12th of Fimbulvetr, 3012**

**UNIDENTIFIED BODY FOUND IN OSTIAN ALLEYWAY**

_Ostia, Lycia - Around 7AM on Tuesday morning, police received a report from a local business owner that a corpse had been discovered in an alley behind Antica Street. The body was charred beyond recognition, and there was no salvageable evidence left to identify the victim aside from a custom switchblade found in the man's hand._

_Local gang fighting has been on the rise in the Antica district, and authorities suspect that this homicide is the result of the growing violence between rivaling crime rings. The burns found on the body were unusual, and indicated that the damage was not due to fire, but rather overexposure to UV radiation. There was also no evidence of arson in the alleyway, so it is likely that the murder occurred at another location. _

_The state advises residents of the Antica District to avoid traveling by foot late at night. Ostia City Police are increasing safety measures in Antica until further notice. To report any suspicious activity, please contact the police immediately._

- o -

**Chapter Three: The University of Ostia**

When they arrived, it was half past ten and Fae was completely exhausted. Ezekiel turned the lock on the red door, and flicked on the light. A cat darted past the opening of the hallway ahead, but otherwise the apartment was utterly still. The floors were pristine and shining, almost with mirror-like quality, and the place was modern and well furnished.

Ezekiel took off his coat and and hung it in the closet in the entryway, offering to take Fae's as well. She shook it off absentmindedly while keeping her prized shoebox, meandering down the hall, intently taking in the pictures and the furniture designs. The living room had a high-vaulted ceiling and large windows that saw outlines of the Ostian skyline. She almost jogged up to it, but it was too bright in the room for her to see through the glass. Zeke reappeared behind her, his tall figure clearly moving in the reflection of the window.

"Do you like it? You'll be living here."

Fae turned about, her skirt whirling around her knees.

"It's very nice," she smiled, and she took off her hat to shake her hair loose. The cat came up behind Zeke, rubbing the entire length of its body against his nice trousers. Ezekiel stepped to the side with a groan. Coarse gray hairs stuck to one of the ankles. Fae laughed, and crouched down, reaching out slightly curled fingers. The animal watched her a little apathetically, its baby blue eyes intent, unblinking. Finally, it approached her hand and rubbed against it too, ears twitching, tail swaying.

"He's really cute!" Fae said, still smiling brightly. "What's his name?" Zeke was picking the hair off, the contaminated foot perched on the opposite knee.

"I call him Hector, but he doesn't respond to anything. He's a right little snot, but when he does seek you out, he can be good company."

"Hullo Hector!" she said cheerily, despite how tired she was.

Zeke showed her to the guest room, setting her bag down next to the bed. It was simply furnished, with dark gray walls, a side table with a lamp and a desk by the window. There was a private bathroom and a mostly empty closet on the wall opposite the door. Fae also noticed the faint but definitely present scent of lemon and mint. It eased her, even if only a little.

"Well, if you need anything, don't hesitate to let me know. My room is at the end of the other hall, just past the kitchen."

Fae thanked him and he shut the door as he left. She had never before stayed in such a nice place as this, but instead of marveling at her new housing arrangements as one normally might, she first moved to the window. Setting the shoebox on the sill, she checked the door cautiously, and then tipped the lid open.

A familiar power radiated out undeterred, feeling almost soft against her fingertips. With a sigh, she closed her fingers around the light blue stone nestled in the folds of the old shirt that served as cushioning. When she took it fully out of the safety of the box, it seemed to glint mysteriously.

Fae looked at into the depths of the stone for a little while and then snapped into decision as she quickly unlatched the window and slid it up. Pressing against one side of the screen, she popped it out expertly. Then she climbed out.

The light pollution was stronger here than it was in Pherae. Still cradling the stone in one hand, she slipped onto the fire escape, lightly following the metal staircase up each story. With her hand trailing the iron bannister, she turned at each new flight, completely oblivious to the cold and the wind tugging at her skirt in quite immodest directions.

She so wanted to see it, though. This city, this land that her friends had loved so much. When she reached the roof of the complex, she hopped lightly onto the balustrade, and stood there, perfectly balanced, her face looking towards the rest of Ostia.

The towers stood straight up into the air, many of them perhaps half a mile up so that the tops of some were touching clouds. They were ethereal and beautiful. Even from this distance they were so large and she knew she would feel insignificant standing before one.

Sophia had mentioned a city once. It was so long ago, back when the Nabatean wilderness had been her home, sheltered in the sands, outside of time and history. Fae missed that long, long hair that smelled sweet, the distant but kind eyes, the elegant hands perched on top of the dark tomes.

She sat and pulled her knees close, her own hands closed over the stone.

"Fae, there is a city to which you must go. It is full of many people. You must go..."

The wind rippled through her shirt, and she could hear a siren wailing in the distance. She shivered as she watched the city with all of its lights, with all of its people.

And once it started, it was impossible to stop.

It had been a while since she had allowed it to happen, and it had been quiet then too. When she was young, she would wail shamelessly and wear her affections on her sleeve. Over the years she had told herself to be strong. She was not human, so she should not be so weak. Even if she were the last of... even if everyone she would ever love would...

Fae felt something soft press against her bare leg, and with a start she lifted her head, the evidence of her tears exposed on her cheek. The gray cat purred, wiping his face against her ankle. Hesitantly, she took one hand off of her dragonstone and stroked the comforting fur of the small creature.

And like a candle being blown out, all the images of dear friends and old places were shut out of her mind. She wiped her face with the back of her hand with resolution, though if she were honest with herself, it was more like disguised resignation.

"I wonder, cat," she whispered, perhaps a little disdainfully. "You who do nothing but sleep and scorn others every day throughout all of your short existence, do you live any less than Fae does? Who is more pitiable of the two of us?"

Hector stretched, his blue orbs constantly watching her face. Fae then withdrew her hand and eased herself onto her feet. She turned her gaze one last time to the glowing city.

"I'm here," she told it, "and I'm alive."

- o -

When Dr. Lyman came into the office that day, Rolana Bowman was in a very bad mood.

She had been very patiently waiting at her desk up until that point. There was nobody else in that morning, as was the norm at that hour of the day. The old analog clock ticked on the eastern wall and a fresh pot of coffee steamed from the corner. She contented herself with a cup, drinking it black and taking in the bitterness as she read the day's paper.

As soon as the door opened, she made her fury known and descended upon him without mercy.

"Calm down, Rolana," Zeke began before she said anything, recognizing the poisonous look on her face as she rounded on him. She was wearing her glasses today, the artsy ones with the plastic brown rims, and her curling lime-green hair was pulled back tightly. In her hand she was holding thick paper manuscript, and she forced it into his face.

"I found this lying on your desk. Unmarked. Completely untouched, even." Her voice was icy. Fae lingered in the doorway, bewildered. Zeke put down his bag and looked apologetic, running a hand through his hair.

"I'm really sorry Rolana. Things were really hectic before I left for Etruria and-"

"And that's fine," she snapped, her fist resting on her hip, "I hadn't expected you to look over it during your trip. But I _had_ expected for you to have returned a week ago, which would have been _plenty _of time for you to look over it and get it back to me in time to review everything. But no, instead I had to go through the lengthy effort of contacting Nick Osman to ask him why my thesis advisor suddenly dropped his responsibilities, was absent at my dissertation proposal, and has yet to proofread the paper that I need to submit to the department in two days."

Zeke plucked the manuscript from her hand and smiled, seemingly undaunted.

"Do you remember the days when you called me 'Dr. Lyman' and respected me in a way that one ordinarily expects a grad student to respect her professor?"

"I wonder," she retorted with a smug look. "Were those also the days before I realized how terribly disorganized you were and began my second vocation as your personal secretary out of sheer pity?"

"Touche," he conceded, bowing his head. He waved the paper in the air as he made his way to the coffeepot. "I'll have this back to you within the hour."

"I'm counting on it," Rolana growled, but in truth, her anger had mostly subsided and she was more amused now. Saint Elimine above... she would be up all night frantically working on the review. For that, she would exact her vengeance on him later. But for now Rolana chose to exercise restraint as there presently was a third party witness.

"And who are you?" she asked, looking over at Fae, who snapped to attention. Ezekiel turned slightly as he poured himself a mug.

"Oh, this is Fae. Fae, Rolana's one of my graduate students. Unless something catastrophic happens, she'll be graduating this year and will move on to bigger and better things. Perhaps she'll even earn herself a less-clumsy professor for her postdoctoral studies."

Tch. It was sort of sad when he said it that way.

"It's nice to meet you," Fae said politely, and Rolana was immediately taken in by her large green eyes.

"Likewise," she replied and shot Zeke a questioning look. He gathered its meaning and responded accordingly.

"Fae has been living alone in Pherae. I became her legal guardian the day before yesterday."

Rolana stared at him.

"As in... she's now living with you."

"Well. Yes."

"Zeke! You can hardly take care of yourself, how on earth are you going to look after someone else?" She gesticulated with every word to indicate her exasperation. "And by yourself? Saint Elimine, you've essentially made yourself a single father!"

"So that's why you should just marry me and move in too." He chuckled and casually gestured with the hand still holding the manuscript. "It would just make everything considerably more convenient."

Fae looked incredibly confused. Rolana came to her aid and grasped her hand. The younger girl was surprised by the touch, at that outgoing gesture.

"He's joking," she said gently, and then to him, "You, sir, are a scoundrel. Well, run along now. I still need to submit that paper tomorrow, and would be much obliged if you could get it back to me as soon as possible. In the meanwhile, I can show Fae around campus."

"How kind of you," he returned, and turned the first page on the manuscript. As he dropped his gaze down to the first line, Rolana went to retrieve her coat.

"Oh, by the way, Elijah's going to be here today. He asked to stay at your place while he's in town."

Zeke, who had been on his way to his personal office, turned and peered over at her from the top of the paper.

"What? Shouldn't he be in school?"

"He's participating in a fencing tournament of some sort, so I guess he got exempt from his classes. He'll be here until the end of this week."

"Huh." He shrugged and retreated into his office. "All right."

Rolana laced her arms through her jacket sleeves and retrieved her keys from her desk. She looked over at Fae, who peered back at her. "Well, shall we go?"

- o -

The University of Ostia was old and boasted a heritage that had lasted through the centuries. The architecture was therefore quite beautiful and the whole campus was a visage of the old Elibe. Fae loved the ancient trees, the crowds of students breathing out vapors in the cold air, and the vine-covered brick buildings. It seemed like a world of its own, hidden within the metropolis of Ostia. The enormous towers were closer here, and no matter where one stood, they could be seen invading the skyline.

She liked Rolana as well, despite the unusual first impression. She liked Rolana in the same way she liked Ezekiel. They were frank and deeply intelligent. Perhaps she had recognized the collegiate culture that had rubbed off and clung to them like the smell of ink and old books. It reminded her of old memories. The hum of magic, the rustle of cloaks, the talk of noblemen...

No, she stopped right there, and with great will, forced her mind to the present.

"This is the College of Engineering," Rolana pointed out as they passed a large building with cranes towering over them. "Pardon the construction, they're adding another wing to it this year."

Fae acknowledged it, and they walked together in a quietness that was not as awkward as a quiet walk between two strangers might be. The two of them seemed to enjoy enough the crisp autumn air and the path of fallen golden leaves. Nothing else seemed lacking.

"So, how did Zeke end up finding you? Do you have any idea what he's up to?" Rolana asked the question lightly, but Fae had the impression that she was merely controlling her wild curiosity.

"He told me he heard about me through a friend. He wanted to help me. I think he's a good person."

Rolana stuffed her hands inside her pockets and observed Fae carefully as they walked.

"Well, yes," the graduate student said, dismissing the overly simplified statement, "But don't you think it's strange?"

"Perhaps a little."

A crisp leaf crunched under Fae's foot, and a smile spread on her face at the sound.

Rolana, who had been unsatisfied with the answers she was receiving, forgot her dissatisfaction as she watched the girl purposely hop from one leaf to another, demolishing each under the tip of her shoe. Fae herself become lost in her childish game as she balanced carefully and surveyed the concrete for her next victim.

"Weird," Rolana said distantly, though she was not quite sure to what she was referring.

"Why, what do you think? Have you known him a long while?" Fae momentarily ceased her game, and directed her full attention back to her chaperone.

"I suppose so. I was in his lecture as an undergraduate when he was just an associate professor. He's much the same as he was then; careless, very whimsical, and considerably unprofessional for all his flirtation." At this, she rolled her eyes. Her tone indicated much disapproval. "He's the type that can charm women out of their senses, but he has no intentions of being in any sort of relationship; it's more his means of manipulation. That's why he can be so open about flaunting it. And he is brilliant, I'll give him that, being relatively young for being in his position at the uni. But I'll also agree with you. I think he is a good person, if any such moral judgement can ever be made so casually about anyone. I just never know what he'll do next or what he's scheming."

"You admire him a lot," Fae observed brightly. "I can tell because you have a lot to say about him." It was vexing to hear, so Rolana chose to brush it off. This proved to be quite easy to do, since at that same moment her mobile began to titter in her pocket. She checked the name flashing on the screen before excusing herself.

"Hi Elijah. No, he's in; he's just not picking up because he's very busy. Are you on campus now?"

As Rolana picked up the call, Fae looked down to search the sidewalk for more fallen leaves she could occupy herself with. She had scarcely begun when a prickling sensation ran up the back of her neck.

Sharply the girl spun around in response. She thought she saw a strange flutter of movement between the figures of two students walking on the other side of the courtyard. She frowned, certain that someone had been staring straight at her just the moment before.

"All right, we'll meet at The Broken Egg. See you then." Rolana hung up, replaced her phone and looked at Fae, who was still staring. "Is everything all right?"

The younger girl turned around, the frown vanished. "Yes."

"Well, Elijah just arrived in Ostia and hasn't eaten yet, so we're going to go meet him and get brunch."

"Who's that?" Fae asked, following Rolana as they switched course, cutting through the courtyard instead of walking beside it.

"He's Zeke's... cousin once removed? I think Elijah's father was Zeke's cousin. Well, they're relatives, at any rate. He was in town all last summer for a government internship, I think he's around your age. You'll probably like him. He's a good person like Zeke. Probably better." She smiled at the last descriptor and corollary, though it seemed that she meant it.

Fae glanced discreetly back to where she had felt someone staring at her earlier. Then, curling a loose strand of hair behind her ear, she turned away and walked on.

- o -

"...is she there with you? …Good. Let me speak with her."

There was a rustle and some indiscernible exchange of words as the phone changed recipients.

"... ….Hello." Her voice betrayed nothing, and even without the noise and the distorted sound quality of the phone, he knew she would have been hard to read. He spun in the chair, away from the desk, to the windows where the towers framed the view, just barely revealing the Ostian capitol building on the other side of the street.

"Good morning, Irene. How are you? I hope the accommodations at Bern Keep are to your liking."

There was a short pause. When she spoke again, her accent made her sound even more severe.

"What do you want, Lysander?" The man raised his eyebrows with amusement as his lips curled up at the corners, taking his goatee with them.

"Still intolerant of any small talk, I see. Would you please tell me where he is?"

"You mean Lionel."

"You know I do."

"I don't know where he is."

Lysander stood up, slipped a hand in his pocket and approached the window. "All right, let's say for now that I believe you. Can you at least tell me how long he's been gone?"

She paused again, and he waited graciously.

"Are you sending a search party?"

"Of course. I am responsible for you both. Now, how long has it been?"

"I don't know. My duties with the Way have been keeping me busy. I haven't the time to look after him."

"You seem rather calm for having just misplaced your last living family member. Aren't you concerned, my dear?"

"The goddess assures me of his safety, Lysander. I have nothing to fear."

He turned to sit back down. There was an old sepia photograph on his desk on which two girls stood beside each other. The younger one had a wide smile, her eyes large and prominent on her face. The other girl also had prominent eyes, but because of color, rather than size. One eye was clearly darker than the other. She was smiling gently as well.

He glanced at the photograph, his gaze focusing specifically on the smaller girl.

"I see."

At that moment, his eye caught the headline of the newspaper someone had brought in for him earlier that morning. Sitting up promptly, he pulled it closer and scanned through the article. Irene said nothing on the other end of the line, as if waiting for him to conclude the conversation.

Satisfied, he pushed away the paper and got to his feet.

"Thank you, Irene. That's all."


	5. IV In the East

**Age of Pretense**

Fire Emblem: The Sword of Seals and the Blazing Sword

by eolianstar

_Postmarked June 20, 3005 _

_**FROM**__:_

_Louis Rolan_

_Petra Outpost, Nabata_

_**TO**__: _

_Margaret Rolan_

_205 Helianthe St._

_Pherae, Lycia_

_Dearest Margot,_

_It is absolutely incredible. Everything we have ever dreamed, even the most childish, wistful of them are now approaching reality. I'm sorry that I'm not able to divulge too much information at the moment, as much of our work is still classified (and also, I confess that selfishly I wish to be there to see your reaction personally) But the instant I land in Pherae, I will tell you everything. There are so many stories, like the very ones you used to tell when we were back at the university. Zeke will be most envious. I can't wait to gloat before him. But you really have much to look forward to._

_I think of you and Elijah every night. Sometimes I imagine you two by the fireplace, telling tales as I'm sure you have been doing. How I miss my precious redheads. The sunflowers in front of the house must be in bloom too. I miss our red door and the smell of paints. _

_Well, I am getting sentimental, aren't I? These months at the site have been so long, But you need not worry about me. It has been hot during the day and frigid at night, but it is dry and we are as comfortable as anybody exposed to the desert can possibly be. And for all the blisters and calluses from our work, I still have the softest hands of any man on our team - entirely your doing! Your balms are still a marvel; I'm grateful to have such a talented wife. Our patron has also been most generous in regards to seeing to our living conditions. He will be arriving here tomorrow to verify our work._

_Well, that's all for now, it is getting late. Tell Elijah that I love him. And I love you. I'll be home very soon; the next time we talk, it will be in person. Thank you for being so patient. The waiting has paid off at long last._

_Love, _

_Louis_

**Chapter Four: In the East**

The haze above Bulgar was an amalgamation of smoke, dust, and heat. Although it was late in the year and approaching winter, the smog around the city made the air oily and insufferably thick. But worse than the suffocating heat and unbreathable air was the noise.

"Cherish the moments of quiet," Mother always said, her voice as soft as her skin. "For that is when the gods speak."

But Bulgar screamed and shrieked and puffed so that the only gods who spoke here were that of roaring engines or squealing pipes. Sheno sat on the concrete steps leading into the shop, Teru lying on the ground beside him. The clamoring from inside was matched by the shouts from the street vendors and the horns honking from the street. Distracting, inconstant, unavoidable.

But the Sacaen patiently tolerated it all. A thin sheen of sweat caused his olive skin to gleam and the smell of oil and dung entered his nostrils with every inhalation. Teru was more vocal about his discomfort and panted heavily, lounging in a heap within the shadow cast by the wall. Sheno peeled an apple he had just purchased from one of the stalls. It was a wrinkled, ugly thing with skin like leather. He spun it easily between his deft fingers and a knife blade, allowing the peel to hang down in a single strip.

He offered a slice to Teru first, who was so lethargic that he gazed back at the man with reproachful eyes. The wolfish dog's face was white, but he had aged gracefully and still carried a noble cast in his features. Sheno encouraged him with a gesture and a word to which Teru obeyed. After they shared the rest of the apple, Sheno poured water from a bottle into his hand for the dog to lap up, and then himself drank.

_My peace is the rain upon Mother Earth,_ Sheno quoted from the ancient epic passed down by his people to ease his mind, _like the fingers of Father Sky. _

Teru's ears pricked up as the door next to the garage creaked open and the stout mechanic stepped out. He was clearly Sacaen in part. His skin and hair was dark, his eyes narrow, but his complexion and facial structure hinted towards a Bernese or Ilian predecessor. Most Bulgarians were of mixed ancestry, and very few associated themselves with any tribe.

His books had reiterated the fact that there were few truly nomadic people groups left on the plains, but it was his travels had made it painfully obvious that he was a minority. Ilian was spoken almost exclusively. Sometimes he would pick out words of the Sacaen tongue in the crowds, but it was always in dialects different from his own. In some ways it was thrilling. In some ways, it made his own world seem so insignificant.

"You are a beloved child of Sacae," Mother constantly told him, as only a mother could. She continued to tell him so, even after he had grown and his father had left them. "You are a rare prince among men; the blood of pride is pure in your veins."

"We've finished," the mechanic stated, wiping his sullied hands on an even dirtier rag. Sheno motioned for Teru to stay and followed the man back into the garage.

His father's old motorcycle was propped on its stand, gleaming dully from its metallic parts. The sidecar had been unhitched during the reparations and lay on the ground to one side.

To demonstrate its restored functions, the mechanic twisted on the ignition. The motor healthily roared to life. It had been a sickly, cackling sound earlier that morning that degenerated to a dying sputter as the day wore on.

The two men went to the cramped office on the side of the building where he paid the previously agreed upon price. As he rolled the bike out of the garage, he heard a woman's laughter as flecks of water struck the exposed parts of his arm.

Teru shook himself off, his wet pelt making him seem darker than usual. The woman had stepped back, but the front of her clothes was dappled from the spray. She was clearly Ilian, her milk-fair skin tanning reddish, her hair deep and blue like the sky at twilight. Her lips were dark and prominent on her face and a small stud was pierced over her left nostril.

"Oy, watch it, silly!" She held a metallic bottle in one hand, her nails painted with a purple so dark it looked almost black. Sheno watched as Teru sniffed the stranger's hands, accepting the scent as she pet him between the ears. "Now, here's a handsome fella! Cooled down a bit, eh?" The dog responded by licking the tips of her fingers as she retracted her hands, straightening as she saw Sheno waiting by the door.

"Yours, is he?" she asked with a broad, unapologetic smile."Pardon my interfering- he just looked so unhappy in the heat and I couldn't find it in myself to pass by without doing something." She was wearing a jacket in this scorching weather herself. The blush in her face suggested to Sheno that she was uncomfortable herself.

"Thank you," Sheno replied in his accented Ilian as Teru trotted up to him, still dripping, tongue lolling. The woman tilted to her head to one side, her earrings dangling and catching the light.

"What's his name?"

"Teru." He placed one hand on the furry head, to that familiar spot between the ears where she had just touched him. She crouched down again, offering a hand for the dog to investigate before stroking his chin. Sheno leaned against his handlebars, observing quietly. There was a fairly large-sized duffel bag on the ground beside the woman. She was a traveler too, in all appearances.

"The name's Amaranthe Grimsdottir, but you can call me Randie," she said, looking over at the Sacaen, at his demeanor, his manner of dress. Teru vied for her attention. "And you're a Sacaen plainsman, aren't you? I've met a few. What's your name?"

It was the first time anyone had addressed him so personally in weeks. Although he did not have any reason to, he answered her, glancing up from the dog's face to hers. She did not avert her gaze.

"Sheno Kharashi."

An extended hand. "Awesome. It's nice to meet you."

He returned the gesture without a change of expression. Her hand was cool and contrasted sharply against the dark warmth of his own. There was a short pause as if both people were waiting for the other to say or do something. Teru wagged his tail and barked.

When at last they let go, the woman gave one last pat on top of Teru's head and bent to pick up her things.

"Well, I've got to get going. Maybe I'll see you again one day."

Unlikely. But he politely waved a couple of fingers as she hoisted her bag to her shoulder, smiled brightly and turned to go. Teru took a few steps towards the retreating woman and whined, as if confused about her sudden departure. Sheno spoke to him a word in Kutohl before starting the engine. Teru hesitated a moment before obeying and jumping into the sidecar. He checked his things-his bag, his quiver and books- before starting the engine. And with that, it seemed that the encounter with the woman named Amaranthe Grimsdottir ended as soon as it had begun.

The roads were congested, and with the occasional ruffian darting inconsiderately between objects in traffic, progress was especially slow. All around there were brown faces and legs, walls and signs.

Cities were odd things. Bulgar gave Sheno the sensation of being swallowed. The buildings were stacked onto each other with thoughtless architecture and scratched the sky with rusty iron shingles and thin pipes of smoke. Power cables were carelessly strung between whatever structures were available. The walls were so high in some parts that the sliver of sky seen between the alleys seemed as thick as a finger. Not that the sky was visible anyhow; the haze gave the city an unpleasant yellow hue that blurred the silhouettes of the buildings lining the streets further on.

Bulgar was the first large destination that Sheno had charted out at the beginning of his journey. There was one thing in particular that he was eager to see in his visit here. With acute attention to detail, he observed everything, in his mind juxtaposing them with the photographs he had seen in a Bernese textbook from his childhood. Sometimes the words in the captions or the surrounded paragraphs came to mind, each word precise. How often he had lost himself in the worlds of the text, in the world beyond his ger, in the history that flowed around his Sacaen community undeterred.

When the Ilians had taken over the Sacae Plains, Bulgar, being the point where the nations converged, had been able to resist the volleying of its northern neighbor and remained autonomous during all the years of Ilia's occupation. However, as the decades passed and Ilian influence was impossible to prevent, business prevailed where politics could not. That much was evident, Sheno could see for himself. As he came towards the eastern edge of the city, where the outskirts gradually lifted to hillside, he could see the pillars of smoke, five- no, six- pouring into the yellow air.

They arrived in the middle of the century, those monstrous assembles of steel and chemicals, long after the Ilia-Sacae War ended. It was a force both welcomed and scorned as labor-and the products of such labor-were in high demand. Both a parasite and the heart of Bulgar, in its prime it had made such promises of a new industrial age.

In some ways, it was true. Sheno watched the milling workers, the packed trucks, the steam. The city was a paradox, with all of its bazaars and technology, orphans and engineers.

What an awesome sight.

Teru barked, but dared not to bound out of his compartment without permission. When Sheno touched the dog's head, both knew that such permission would not be granted.

He had seen enough. As he began to turn, he looked away from the factories responsible for slowly polluting his beloved homeland, and prepared to leave the city.

- o -

Charlotte Fjorsdottir enjoyed her daily tea blend as a part of her morning ritual, and despite the intrusion that had called upon her unexpectedly, today was no exception.

She took in the scent of the Ilian spices, the cloves and other nutty undertones, that enlaced the steam rising from her cup. The frothy film from the whipped milk seemed slow and soft in the mug as she tilted it around leisurely.

The man who had called upon her so suddenly sat calmly in the seat across from her and they shared a complacent silence. He was older, with strong Bernese traits,-a full beard and broad, sweeping features. He was well dressed and gloved, his hands resting on top of the jeweled end of a cane. They were at present in her personal sitting room, his escorts beside him while she was unattended.

"I must confess I was not expecting you," she began in perfect common Elibean, "None of our previous correspondences indicated that you would be coming to New Edessa, ambassador."

"That didn't stop you from knowing that I would be coming," the man replied, and she spotted his smugness instantly. "I think that you were rather surprised that I managed to find a way to obtain your audience on my own initiative. I have my connections as you do, my lady."

Charlotte observed him and smiled widely. Her violet hair was short enough to expose the nape of her neck where an elaborate, wingless dragon was tattooed on her pristine skin, slithering from behind her ear to between her shoulders.

"I would imagine you are here to examine the merchandise referred to in my letter. It is on display upstairs. Would you like to see it now?"

The house reflected the sterile aesthetics of a modern design, all hard corners and black and white surfaces. The geometric lights hung from the ceiling at calculated, varied heights and the stairs jutted out from the wall, resembling the black keys of a piano. If her position in life had not already automatically suggested her wealth, her home did. But as the Bernese man was not himself a stranger to luxury, he was undaunted and admired the interior design with little more than casual respect.

After ascending to the second floor, they came to where the object in question had a whole room to itself. From a distance it glowed like a string of light, straight, perfect.

The spear looked almost as if it were suspended, its many pronged tip pointing to the ceiling. It was as shiny and translucent as wet ice, but Charlotte had attested to its hardness, having seen that stone, steel, and finally even diamond had difficulty scratching the surface of this magnificent item. She stepped to the aside to allow her client to see it more clearly, though she was not so desensitized by its appearance to not admire it herself.

The man, who had only heard a description of the spear, allowed an expression of pure wonder to spread on his face upon seeing it for the first time. There was a quiet hum about it, as if the crystal was bending the silence around them, resonating mysteriously.

"Have you tested it for its age?" he asked at last, unable to look away. He had to resist from raising his hand to touch it, to grasp that power for himself.

"We have tried. But the item itself is some lattice of a carbon isotope, we think, and so we were unable to get an accurate reading. It is a material unknown to us, but considering where we found it, I assure you that this is what you think it is."

The Bernese ambassador seemed to be placated, but perhaps more by the sight of the weapon than her words. Looking away at last, he regained control over his emotions and they settled the deal, making all of the promises and arrangements necessary.

After the men had left, Charlotte remained in the room and turned. Unnoticed by her visitors, there was another small platform by the opposite wall upon which a pedestal was placed. There was nothing on display there, but she approached it expressionlessly, her hand curled around her empty tea cup.

She was still looking at it when Isaac entered, the cold light from the room glinting off of his one hoop earring, catching her eye. He too had a wingless dragon tattoo, but it started on the back of his hand and curled around his wrist like a bracelet.

"So it is done?" he asked her in Ilian, hands clasped behind his back, eyes darting towards the spear.

"It is done," she acceded in the same language, unmoving, still looking at the empty pedestal. "What news do you bring?"

"Our friend in Lycia has given us the suspected location of sword. I do not trust him." The two statements were logically unrelated, but she, having similar thoughts, followed seamlessly.

"You shouldn't. Neither should you trust our Bernese friend."

"He wishes to speak to you in person. He says that it is of utmost importance." She was surprised at this.

"In person? Well! It seems that my audience is in high demand these days. Perhaps I should work on securing a more threatening reputation, or else at this rate even the Pope will request to have tea with me."

"They are fools. They do not know who they are dealing with."

Charlotte looked at him directly then, amusement lifting her expression.

"Well, I am flattered you think so. What other news?"

"They tracked her as far as Bulgar. I would imagine they will apprehend her by the end of week."

She made no reaction. Isaac came closer, and though she was a tall woman, his mouth came to the level of her ear.

"What will you do, Charlotte?"

She paused for a few seconds, returning her gaze momentarily to the empty pedestal. Then she turned and pressed her cup into his hands, speaking as she made her way to the door.

"Make preparations to investigate the alleged location in Lycia. I will go personally and call upon our audacious fool while I am at it." She stopped at the exit, and turned back. Isaac was unmoving. "As for the other matter... bring her and the bow back here. I will deal with her myself. Even if she is family, the Grace has its laws, and I will abide."

- o -

They were a long way off now. He had seen the mountains from a distance many times before, but he had never been so close as this. This was the final rite, the last frontier, and he would leave his home of twenty and one years for the first time in his life.

It was a little cooler now that they were a few hours from Bulgar. The sky was still angry and overcast with unhealthy clouds, but the wind brought some relief from the sticky, uncomfortably warm air. He was eager to see the blue skies, like the ones of his homeland, but it made him wonder if he would ever see those same skies. Perhaps the rest of the world saw what he saw in Bulgar- he did not know.

Before entering the pass, Sheno unlaced the pouch holding an arc of wood curled so far back on itself that it was almost circular. He bent the ends backward tightly, working quickly to tie the tough hemp cords on each. Teru recognized the gesture and in anticipation, wagged his tail furiously, padding around his master with all the canine happiness he could muster. With expert precision and speed, Sheno finished stringing the bow and tested the tension.

He shot a couple of rabbits, which Teru was eager to fetch. For a month since leaving the reserve, they had been eating whatever game Sheno was able to shoot so as to conserve the little money he had. The world outside was very different, the currency being metal and paper rather than sweat and blisters.

"Must you go?" Mother had asked as he made his final preparations to leave home, but the inflection her voice did not make it sound like a question. She already held the bag with the money between her hands.

"Yes," Sheno had said. She touched the side of his face, the wrinkles at the corner of her eyes creasing.

"Yes," she agreed, "you must."

He might have imagined the sadness and fear in her eyes, but both felt it. The same thought flashed between them, the thought that he, too, would not return.

"I am Sacaen," Sheno reminded Teru quietly as they ate and watched the sun sink into the mountains. He looked back towards the steppelands, towards Mother Earth's green ocean. He thought again of Father Sky's blue smile, and glanced at the the angry clouds in turn. "I will always return."

After dinner, Teru snapped the rabbit's fragile bones between his teeth while Sheno read from the volume of an Ilian encyclopedia. It was a fresh read; he had to part with a few of his own books for the trade, but it was more than worthwhile. He fingered his father's amulet around his neck as he read. It was a coarse, beaded thing that he normally wore concealed under his clothes.

Whenever he felt it, sometimes he thought on the journey of its previous owner, whose love for foreign lands was scorned by his people, a love seemingly inherited by his only son. As Sheno took in each word, each sentence and footnote of the encyclopedia, he was reminded of this fact.

He was halfway through the article on St. Elimine's canonization (the volume pertained to words beginning with the letter c) when Teru bolted up, ears pricked up. A low growl came from his throat, causing Sheno to glance away from his book.

From a distance he could see a figure running across the field. The sun was low, elongating the shadow of the person as she frantically flew down the path towards the mountain pass. Behind her, two other figures, larger and more imposing, caught up to her and subdued her. He was only able to see their silhouettes, but from the pursuers' movements, he could see that they were treating their quarry violently. He could make out shouting, particularly the woman's, as she made her distress known audibly.

Teru bolted towards them without Sheno saying a thing. Odd... He reached for his bow, and when he looked up he was just in time to see one of the men striking the woman with a blunt object. She crumpled to the ground. At this point, the blurry speck that was Teru barked and lunged for the assailant.

Sheno left his things and followed after his dog, stringing an arrow into his bow. The woman was on the ground, arms wrapped around her bag, and the man who had struck her was also on the ground, on his back, his bloodied hands around Teru's maw, trying to keep the brilliant teeth from tearing into his throat. His companion shouted and ran towards them.

When Sheno was close enough to make out the features of the strangers, his eyes focused in on the object the second man had shaken free and pointed towards the dog. When the realization gripped him, his heart lurched unbearably. He ran faster towards the scene and shouted frantically at the dog, ordering him to stand down, to run away, but the shot deafened all other competing sounds in the valley.

The young Sacaen man, like the majority of Elibeans, had never heard a gunshot before. Ever since the Treaty of New Edessa, arms and the technology used to make them had been banned all across the continent. But the moment he heard the sound, he knew. Like thunder on the plains, he thought, but was contained, not free like the thunder.

Teru winced and jumped away, and Sheno froze. But instead of the dog, the armed man was the one that fell. Even in the sanguine light of the sun, the Sacaen was able to see the crimson blossom that dotted his back.

Amazed, Sheno glanced about and he noticed for the first time a fourth person, a mere boy, holding a smoking revolver in his hands, his face stricken. When he saw what he had done, his eyes widened and he dropped the weapon. "Oh fuck!"

The first man, the one Teru had assaulted, scrambled to his feet. Upon realizing what had happened to his companion, pure rage ballooned in his face as he too, drew a revolver. It was unthinkable, because as the man leveled his weapon, Sheno saw that he meant to shoot the boy.

But there was no chance for a second shot to ring in the valley. With the whirring of a bowstring and a flying bolt, an arrow met its mark in the gunman's neck. He had protected it from Teru's jaws in vain.

The boy let out a string of colorful language. Though his own mind was reeling with what had just happened, Sheno's gentle instincts urged him to check on the woman first. He came to her side quickly, putting down his bow to lift her up. And if the evening's events had not already been extraordinary, his surprise was doubled when he recognized her.

Teru winced and licked Amaranthe Grimdottir's face. She moaned, but did not stir otherwise. He checked her head, noticing a large bump rising from the top of her cranium. At this point the boy, having seemingly recovered, was suddenly at the woman's side, pulling at her sleeve, calling her name desperately. The dog whined, and Sheno put a hand on Teru's head and praised him, his loyalty and courage. The owner was still trembling, and the dog, sensing his trepidation, licked the side of his jaw affectionately.

"She will be fine," Sheno told the boy, and rose to his feet while carrying her in his arms. His eyes passed over the two bodies, a grimace passed over his face. It was dark now; there was little he could do except give the proper respects to the dead in the morning.

The boy and the dog followed behind him, the former barraging him alternately with questions and curses when Sheno failed to answer those questions. In fact, the rest of the night carried on in that fashion. The Ilian boy, for Sheno was certain that he was Ilian, did a fine job of exploiting his impertinence and ingratitude while the Sacaen maintained a steady silence. To be honest, his grasp on the Ilian language was not good enough to follow the youngster's rapid, unfamiliar words.

He revived the fire and spoke not a word. Though he was curious about the nature of the two Ilians' relationship, he was content to wait, preferring to speak to her when she awoke rather than try to decipher the boy's crude Ilian. But while he was resolved to tolerate the unfavorable company, Teru was not so lenient and constantly growled, invoking Sheno's reprehension.

When he gave the boy the leftover rabbit, the Sacaens were rewarded with approximately five minutes of silence. Once the last morsel was swallowed however, the demands resumed. Even after the boy had cursed himself to exhaustion and fell asleep beside the equally strained Teru, there was no chance for a quiet evening of reading. The thoughts swirling in Sheno's mind prevented him from doing anything else but replay the night's events in his head.

When he finally decided to prepare for bed, he moved to put out the fire. Once he got to his feet, he noticed a gleam from the corner of his eye. There, Amaranthe's duffel bag was partially unzipped, and an object poked out of the opening. Sheno may have been an inquisitive person, but he was seldom intrusive. Yet, there was something so familiar about the sight, something that made him feel like what he was seeing was of utmost importance that he found himself squatting down to investigate further.

The corner of a bow was protruding from the bag. What more, it was the most magnificent Sacaen bow he had ever seen. The wood had a satin glow, like burnished bronze in the firelight. The handle was carved buffalo horn, and the leather lining the inside of the arc was decorated with traditional Sacaen design, each colored thread gleaming in perfect triangular arrangements. He almost reached out to touch it, but remembered himself.

Amaranthe stirred. She was perspiring from the side of her face, but the discomfort did not rouse her. It was a balmy night, even after sunset, and she was wearing that same jacket he had seen her wearing in Bulgar.

Leaving the bow alone, he gingerly he began to take the coat off of her, intending to cover her with a more comfortable horse blanket instead. When the dancing flames illuminated her skin, they revealed a bare shoulder. Not quite bare he realized, because there was an elaborate tattoo stretched across it. A dragon-wingless and hauntingly beautiful. When he felt that he had seen too much, he spread the blanket over her.

What a strange thing- that a true Sacaen would save the lives of two Ilians. But as bizarre as it was, it was unmerited, because this act of grace forced upon him was not of his own election. He never had blood on his hands like this- at this thought, he remembered well the expression of the man he had killed. But as he thought longer on it, he came to the conclusion that even if he had the choice, he would not have changed what had happened-what he had done.

As he stared up at dark expanse, he listened to the crackling of the fire and the singing insects. Then he thanked Father Sky and Mother Earth and closed his eyes.

- o -


	6. V The Woman in the Mist

**Age of Pretense**

Fire Emblem: The Sword of Seals and the Blazing Sword

by eolianstar

[Excerpts from a brief textbook overview on the Great Ilian Winters & Ilia-Sacae War]

_The Great Ilian Winters began with record breaking cold in the north at the end of second decade. Starting in the early 2120's the northern cities were virtually uninhabitable and immigrants began to flood the southern lands. Many citizens of the south protested the presence of the refugees, and riots and crime continued to spiral out of control..._

_...General Elyan Sorenson rose in power and popularity as he continued to press his stance on crossing the Ilia-Sacae border. By this point, resources were scarce and Ilians continued to pour in from the north as the Winters showed no signs of relenting. In 2126, Sorenson and his followers overthrew the crippled Ilian Council and gained control over the Ilian military and mounted preparations to invade the Sacae Plains._

_However, due to the fragmented nature of the nomadic societies, general unity and solidarity was established too late between tribes, leading to the eventual downfall of the Sacaen people and the inevitable occupation of Ilian forces. During this time, many families fled Sacae, but suffered prejudice in other countries for their vagrant lifestyles. They would come to form a nationless people group colloquially known as the Cayans._

_Although the destruction of Sacaen tribal life was devastating, both sides were not without casualty. The Pegasi Cavalry, for which Ilia was well known in the old world, were the first targets of the predominantly bow-wielding nomads and were the first to fall in battle. Historians estimate that over five thousand pegasi and women were killed in the first half of the Ilia-Sacaen war, and General Sorenson's demand for more knights almost drove the animals to extinction._

_By the time Lycia and Etruria intervened in 2131, the Sacaen tribes were virtually decimated. In the spring of early 2132, General Sorenson was captured. One year after his capture, the nations passed the sentence and executed Sorenson on account of his war crimes. However, it was not until 2147 that the nations formed the new Ilian Council at New Edessa and issued a formal apology with compensation to the surviving Sacaen people. A portion of the land was reserved for those willing to take back their tribal lifestyle._

_However, few caravans chose to return to the plains. The changes brought on by the war had changed the geography of Sacae irreparably and the Cayans were content with the lifestyle to which they had adapted during the years of the Ilian occupation. Presently, only a few small tribes have preserved their unique culture and language, and continue to live proudly the ways of the forefathers before them._

- o -

V. The Woman in the Mist

Irene hated Bern. Though she would admit that she was not generally a positive person and more readily dwelt on the disagreeable aspects of life, she seldom expressed her displeasure this plainly.

Granted, her present circumstances in Bern were far from usual, just as her life and upbringing had always been unusual. It was not often a young woman was a long-term guest of Bern Keep or came into regular acquaintance with its monarch. It was even less often that a woman was considered divine and had a group of followers to meet her every whim. Oh, how they doted and obeyed and spoke such flattery, and to make matters worse, she thought the Bernese accent was so annoying.

She was a prisoner in every way. Her cage was beautifully ornamented and had its perks, but there was not a soul in the castle she trusted. Especially now that she had helped her sole confidant flee the country a few weeks back, she was utterly alone. She kept her mouth shut and spoke only when necessary, most often to members of the Way, sometimes to the servants with terse, disinterested commands. At least Lysander was gone too. She hated him the most. She also feared him the most.

But even worse than the people was the boredom. Her daily schedule was more or less the same, and she had too much time on her hands. The novelty of being in a palace or in the presence of a person of ancient royal lineage had long faded into the mundane. It was not romantic nor spectacular, and the King was just as unremarkable and infuriating as everyone else.

Yet she was a quiet, pretty thing that had learned to mask her disapprobation well. Sometimes when the Bernese officials inquired of her, or when she went to showcase her ability to the king and his advisors, she came off as timid and demure. When she spoke words on behalf of the Saint, she came off as authoritative and holy.

So her sole pleasure were the times she spent in the stained-glass garden pavilion where she might be left in peace. Most of the servants thought she spent the days reading novels, but the books she brought were ancient sacred texts, and one of them, _The Revelation of the Saint_, concealed a drafting knife between pages 149 and 150. She always also had a stave under her arm, though so many people were used to seeing her carry one that this detail was not as worthy of notice.

Her daily ritual began with her situating herself at the stone bench lining the inside of the pavilion. Putting down the staff to favor the drafting knife, she would nimbly flick off the cap, bare her arm and slice it open as easily and matter-of-factly as if she were stroking the skin with a paintbrush.

She liked watching the blood seep slowly out of the cut, feeling the cold sensation as the air met her exposed flesh. Irene enjoyed the pain, not because it distracted her from her miserable lot in life- not like those overly emotional, small-minded teenagers who mutilated themselves for that reason, she haughtily believed-but because it made her feel triumphant. That she could do such a thing without fear or hesitation made her powerful. It made her stronger. It freed her from the restraints of self-preservation.

"'Thy destiny shall be restoration and enlightenment shall be thy design,'" she quoted from _The Revelation_. "'Therefore fear not the way of suffering, nor the sting of death.'"

After the blood welled out enough to trickle down, she would pick up the stave, direct the light emanating from it to the fresh wound, and watch the skin close up. When she had become quite proficient at her art, it never left so much a scar. Afterwards, she was sure to clean the knife well. The thought of a rusty instrument disgusted her.

Sometimes this one secret pastime was subject to interruption, as the garden was not exclusively hers to roam. Servants or other castle staff often passed through, but she was never caught performing her morbid custom; the footfalls of any passersby were loud enough to alert her in time. Other than these small occurrences, she was left largely alone, and she coveted that time and place all the more for it.

But the singular occurrence that jeopardized the daily nature of her habit happened on the blustering gray afternoon she met Felix Drake. She was carrying more books than normal and had two staves under her arm instead of one. Just as she stepped into the garden, the wind flew up and knocked open the cover of the top book in her stack. The first few pages chattered in gale with such ferocity that they were in danger of tearing. Startled, she lost her balance and the books tumbled out of her arms.

It just so happened to be that one of the castle guards passed by at that same moment and quickly came to her aid. He was young, maybe in his mid-twenties, with dark curls and eyebrows and tanned skin. She had been able to keep from crying out when this happened, but he vocalized his surprise for her when the books fell.

"It's a lot of books. Please allow me," he said after picking up her fallen cargo, making no move to surrender it to her. He meant to carry them for her, and she bristled with annoyance as she nodded her permission. It was merely quicker and simpler to have him do what he wanted rather than protest. He smiled and a dimple appeared. He was not bad to look at, especially when he smiled. Irene recognized him vaguely, having seen him in passing, laughing with his co-workers.

Unfortunately for her, he was as amiable a man as he appeared and did not want their walk to be marked by silence. He commented on the chilly weather and the upcoming harvest holiday with a disposition too cheery for her liking. They were topics that allowed her to pass her side of the conversation in silence. She just had to not focus on his accent, lest she be even more irritated than she was already.

But when they reached the steps of her destination, he turned to look at her and asked her something she had not expected.

"And how are you, my lady? Are you doing well?"

It was a strange question, because nobody ever bothered to ask her such a thing. The questions always involved how to improve her living conditions: what she wanted to eat, what she needed.

"Well enough," she answered him, unsure whether to think him impertinent or sincere.

"I hope that is true," the young man replied, still holding her books. A golden leaf had caught in his hair, but he had not noticed. "I see you during morning vespers when the chapel opens every day. Ah, that makes me seem like a creep, doesn't it?" He laughed. "But I noticed you because you often seem distressed; I imagine it must be because you worry for your missing brother. I... I'm very sorry."

Irene did frown at this.

"You needn't be sorry," was all she said. She was hoping that her short replies would give him a hint. She needed to be by herself. He seemed to receive her signal as clearly as he might have received a command, but although he relented, that smile, boyish and harmless, appeared on his face and reintroduced the dimple.

"Please take care of yourself. I can't say I understand the sort of pressure you're under, but I really don't like seeing you by yourself so much. If you ever want someone to talk to, don't hesitate to speak with me. My name is Felix."

These Bernese men. They were always so forward.

"All right," she answered with no intention of taking him up on the offer. When at last he left her, she was in foul spirits.

She had been trying so hard not to allow her concern for Lionel show. But surprisingly, the fact that this stranger had noticed her desperate prayers for her sibling was not what vexed her. Rather, his words reminded her how worried she really was. It was even harder to contain the emotions now that she entertained the thought.

"If You really are real, don't let it happen twice," she commanded the sky. "I can't lose lose them both... I won't."

The wind breathing on the trees was her only answer. It teased her, drew her hair in front of her face.

She sat down, picked up _The Revelation,_ and opened the book to page 149.

- o -

Amaranthe was already up when Sheno awoke. Low fog rolled over the ground so that the earth was white below and sky was its perpetual gray above. He sat up and brushed an arm across his eyes.

He saw her then, standing where the path was, looking down at the ground where the bodies lay. Even from the distance, even with the mist curling about her, he could see her hand gleaming with blood, fingers curled around a gun. She had the horse blanket wrapped around her still. Teru was sitting by side, tail wagging and swirling the white around them.

She was like the first human, he thought, the Woman in the Mist who the legends say lived when the world began as a dim cloud in the sky. Her tears were the rain, and though Father Sky loved her dearly, she was so alone. Even with the dog beside her, Amaranthe looked as lonely as the Woman of the story.

Teru seemed to sense his master's gaze, because his ears pricked up and he looked back. Then, springing on all legs, Teru padded towards him. The sudden movement jarred Sheno out of his thoughts.

The dog was hungry; his wriggling and nudging was a desperate plea. Sheno told him to wait. The Ilian boy was still sleeping, his expression was far more peaceful and agreeable than when he was awake.

As the Sacaen washed his face, he thanked Father Sky that the morning was cool. The artificial heat and humidity was beginning to make him feel ill. Amaranthe approached him, and when he looked up at her, he saw her wry, large smile first, the bloody hand second.

"Sheno Kharashi. I told you we might meet again. Isn't that something?" She crossed her arms and sat beside him. He raised his bottle towards her in reply, and she took it with her clean hand. As the water ran pink, they made no comment about the bodies still laying in the mist.

"How are you feeling?" Sheno asked, his eyes set on the gun she had put down. She flicked her hand to remove the excess water and Teru sat down on his haunches.

"I have a massive headache, and I'm a little confused. But I'm not afraid anymore." She closed her eyes and held her head, feeling the tender spot where she had been struck.

"Why were they after you?"

She glanced at him, all traces of her smile gone now. Slowly she pulled back the horse blanket the reveal the tattoo on her white shoulder. It was even more prominent in the gray daylight.

"I used to be a member of an... organization in Ilia called Ninis' Grace. I, well... I stopped agreeing with their values and ran away. They don't take too kindly to deserters, as you saw for yourself." She paused, her eyes flickering to the sleeping boy. His hair was knotted with a rubber band and it twisted messily as he stirred in his sleep. It was, Sheno realized with some interest, the same blue color he had missed so much. "I take it that it was Johann that shot the man. I didn't think it was in him. And you killed the second one."

Sheno nodded grimly. She gave a short, dry laugh and wrapped the blanket around herself again.

"Well, it's not anything they didn't deserve. I am sorry though. I wish Johann didn't get involved. He should have stayed in New Edessa like I told him to. Never listens, that one, even if I try to beat some sense into him."

Sheno gestured questioningly, referring to Johann, as she had called him.

"He was picked up by the Grace when he was young. There are a bunch of homeless orphans in New Ed and the Grace ends up taking in many to train them in their ways. I took a liking to him early on, and in turn he grew attached to me. I guess I sorta became his surrogate sister. He must've been following me since I left Ilia."

After a short silence, Amaranthe sighed. "I'm sorry."

Sheno arched an eyebrow and met her glance, but she averted her eyes this time. "I didn't mean to get you involved in this either. We're basically strangers, and yet you've saved me and my friend."

"Where will you go now?" Somehow, although he had not reassured her with words, it was clear by his demeanor that he was not bothered by what had happened nor her circumstances. She slowly met his gaze and even ventured to smile a little, resting her chin on her knuckles.

"I was hoping to escape to Lycia. There is someone that I think can help me. I just need to find him."

Teru set his head down on Sheno's lap. The Sacaen pondered this for only a moment, and then stood.

"You may come with us if you wish." Her head lifted at this. "The roads are safer if we travel together."

"Hah." Amaranthe closed her eyes for a moment, as if in thought. Then, hoisting herself to her feet, she looked straight at him, her hair partially covering her eyes. As she flicked at a fly that had settled on his shoulder, she asked him: "Have you ever heard the phrase, 'knight in shining armor'?"

He returned her question with the same prompting expression from before, with that raised eyebrow. Amaranthe laughed and went to wake Johann. "Well, I say to hell with them! I'd take one of you over a thousand of them in a heartbeat!"

- o -

Johann had a blotchy red spot on his cheek where Amaranthe had struck him. Sheno was rather taken aback by her use of force, but when she began to flail the boy with rapid, furious Ilian, the Sacaen realized that the blow was much kinder in comparison. Johann did not cry as one his age normally would have, but shouted back with every vulgarity his vocabulary could muster.

But after a little while, as Amaranthe grilled Johann with a glare meaner than Sheno had thought her even physically capable of producing, Johann shuffled his feet and looked at the ground.

"I was just worried, Randie." The boy's lower jaw jutted out a little. "Really."

Then she sighed, and put her hands on his head, and pressed him against herself in a reassuring embrace. Here, Sheno went to find game for breakfast.

After they ate, the fog had mostly subsided. Sheno tied back his hair and pulled a burlap bag from his things. Johann, still chewing the last of his meal, squinted up at the Sacaen and spoke with the food between his teeth. "What are you doing?"

"The bodies should be buried."

Amaranthe had begun to chide Johann for his manners, but Sheno's response halted her

"What?" Johann swallowed. "Why?"

Sheno's answer was a grey-eyed glance as he pulled on a pair of gloves. Then he made off towards the trail with Teru at his heels. When he reached the place where the men lay in the pools of partially dried blood, he surveyed the area. He did not have a shovel or any of the proper tools, but perhaps if there was a spot of lower ground...

"Hey," Amaranthe said, running up behind him. She had left the blanket behind so that she was only wearing her trousers and the dark tank top. "Can I help?"

Together they were able to drag the corpses to a dip in the land and cover them with earth. It was a grisly business, but Amaranthe continued to surprise Sheno as she treated the bodies very casually. He himself had seen a dead person several times, but he never once had to handle one. She was not repulsed, not even bothered at the notion of handling the bodies with her hands. Rather, she made conversation as easily and fluidly during their task as if they were performing some household chore together.

"Are there ghost stories in Sacae?" She held the bag open for him so that he could scoop handfuls of dirt into it.

"Many."

"Are they the souls of dead people?"

"We say that the body is the house of the soul. When all things die, they return home to Mother Earth. The souls who do not will wander in search of a place to stay. But they are not always people. Sometimes they are the souls of the animals, of the trees or of water."

When they finished, Sheno lay the burlap over the mounds and wiped his chin with the back of his wrist. Amaranthe looked on the graves with an expression that made Sheno think of the Woman if the Mist again.

"You knew them," he said. He had noticed that both bodies had dragons also tattooed plainly on their skins. Hers was such a prominent part of her body that it was little wonder she endured a jacket in the heat. She gave a slight nod.

"Yes."

"Were they your friends?"

At this she stretched her arms, dissolving the solemnity. "Hm. Maybe once."

Back at the camp, Johann was dismantling one of the guns. The other one, the one Amaranthe had picked up from the dead man that morning, still lay by her things. Cartridges littered the ground as Johann practiced loading his weapon.

"Did you steal this from the Grace?" Amaranthe asked, gesturing to the gun he had in his possession. He snapped the compartment shut.

"Yep."

Amaranthe hit him on the head and he swore. Sheno removed his gloves and began to pack his things. He disliked the guns... perhaps even hated them. The consequences for being caught with them would likely be very severe.

"Wow, that's a lot of books," Amaranthe said cheerfully, noticing the short stack Sheno was handling. "What are they all for?"

He blinked. "To read."

"You can read?" A look of surprise came over her face. Something about it was unsettling.

"Why is that so strange?" He must have frowned because she covered her mouth, embarrassed.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I said that without even thinking. I didn't mean..."

She seemed genuinely apologetic, and so it was meaningless to hold it against her. It was true that there was no writing system for the Kutohl language, and he was one of the few bilingual individuals of his people, let alone literate. But Amaranthe's mistake made him aware of something he had not considered having to deal with.

"I am not angry," he assured her as he put away the books. "Do not worry."

But that expression of surprise lingered in his mind. Amaranthe took her place on the motorcycle seat behind him, her arms encircling his waist, and Johann, grumbling about the accommodations, shared the sidecar with Teru. The irony of fate struck him again in that instance. He would have liked to say that he was above history, the past and present hatreds, the misunderstandings... but it troubled him to think that perhaps not everyone tried to think that way. When they entered the pass to cross the mountains into the lands beyond, he realized that he was as much afraid as he was determined.

"Stand tall and be proud. Show kindness to all people," were Mother's last words. "So that the world may know that Sacae truly lives."

- o -

_A/N: Hi everyone! You might have noticed I changed the picture for this story :P I'm starting to post pictures and character profiles on my LiveJournal (the link is on my profile page!) Currently I have a few characters up... but I realized only 1 out of the three have been introduced so far (and so will come with some spoilers). Hahaha... but if you're interested, please take a look!_


	7. VI The Son of Pherae

**Age of Pretense**

Fire Emblem: The Sword of Seals and the Blazing Sword

by eolianstar

[Handwritten card]

_Lenore,_

_Happy birthday to us! My present better be good, because I got you something pretty epic, heheh :P Looking forward to another good year. I'm really glad that we're twins... maybe others wouldn't like to have to share birthdays and everything with their sister, but I like it. Especially this past year, we've shared a lot more than I'm sure you bargained for, heh... but really. I know I goof off a lot, and that you get really impatient with me, but there's nobody else like you in the world to me. _

_Thanks also for defending me from Irene for these past thirteen years. I don't know if I would have made it otherwise. _

_Love ya, sis!_

_Lionel_

- o -

**VI. **The Son of Pherae

She saw him from a distance, his flaming red hair bright against the dingy autumn backdrop. It was such a strong memory trigger that when he began to turn, she had already formed a face in her mind and her heart quickened.

So Fae was not surprised to see those blue eyes, but he was-

"Elijah!" Rolana said once they were close enough to hear each other over the din of traffic. They were standing outside the cafe next to the wooden a-sign where the daily special was written in chalk. The red-headed boy had his mobile phone in his hands, fingers poised over the keypad as if he had been in the middle of writing a text message. He was wearing sweatpants with a windcheater, his was hair messy, and he sported glasses as if he had a rushed morning and had not fully gotten ready to leave the house.

Fae looked away from him, feeling embarrassed by her foolish impulse.

"Hey Rolana." He yawned, and then smiled sleepily, shutting his phone and stowing it away. "Sorry, I left Pherae super early this morning and I couldn't sleep at all on the train..."

"Well, it's at least good to see you made it all right. Zeke had no idea that you were coming. He just arrived this morning himself."

"Oh?" Elijah asked, scratching his ear, giving Fae a sideways glance as if to acknowledge her presence. "I thought he was supposed to come back from his trip last week?"

"Me too," Rolana said dryly, setting her lips in a taut, straight line. "Well, this is Fae. She's staying with Zeke at the moment."

Elijah looked a little confused, but he was well-mannered and stretched out a hand instead of spoiling the introduction with a question.

"Hi Fae! I'm Elijah Rolan; it's nice to meet you."

As she took his hand she smelled something like lemon and mint. It was the same calming scent as the one in her own bedroom in Zeke's apartment, she realized. "It's nice to meet you too. Your last name sounds like Rolana's name."

Elijah thought about it. "You're right. They're not uncommon Lycian names, so I guess I never thought about it. Probably goes back to Roland the Hero, I would guess. What's your last name?"

Fae hesitated, and replied: "Arcadia. I hear it's not very common though."

"Yes, this is the first time I've heard of it," Rolana agreed. Elijah's brow creased as if in thought, as if trying to remember something. When he failed to say anything more, Rolana gestured towards the glass doors. "Well, shall we go inside?"

After they took their seats and ordered their drinks, Elijah first glanced meaningfully at Rolana, who returned his gesture questioningly.

"So, how are you and the Lady Lilina doing?"

Fae started and looked to the graduate student for her response.

"We're doing well," Rolana said with a wry smile. "I almost throttled someone during the bureaucracies of the Lycian Alliance dissolution, but things are going smoothly from here."

"Good to hear," Elijah said, and began to rummage through his sports bag. Fae spoke up.

"Lilina?" Before Rolana could begin, Elijah cut in, setting a parcel down on the table.

"Rolana's absolutely obsessed with Lady Lilina of Ostia."  
"It's an academic interest!" The graduate student retorted defensively, and Elijah shielded his voice with a hand so as to privately confide with Fae.

"We used to joke that they were lovers. Zeke always did say that Lady Lilina was his most threatening rival for Rolana's affections."

Rolana knocked Elijah lightly on the side of the head with her fist, and he laughed, protecting his head with his hands in response. Fae cracked a smile at their interaction, feeling a little envious of their relationship.

"You're being badly influenced by him," Rolana said, somehow scowling and grinning at the same time. "Besides, you have to be somewhat passionate about a subject if you're going to write a two hundred paged thesis on the matter."

"Here," the young man returned, pushing the parcel towards her. When she made no move to retrieve it, he urged her with a gesture. "You can thank me later."

Suspiciously, Rolana picked it up from the table and began to unwrap it as Fae watched beside her. It was a little bigger than a man's hand, rectangular in shape. When she tore the last bit of the paper away, Fae gasped, but so did Rolana.

"Holy shit," the latter expressed, forgetting herself. The frame was new, but the painting held within it was badly faded with age, even damaged towards the edges. Still, the faces that looked up at them were clearly defined, very well preserved for how old it seemed.

"Apparently, my grandfather had some artifacts on a long-term loan to an Etrurian museum before he died. The contract ended this past year, so my mum inherited them without even knowing that they even existed. We just received this and a couple more items in the post." Elijah said, leaning his elbows on the table. He seemed rather pleased by Rolana's reaction. "She's not very sentimental, so she allowed me to gift it to you for everything you did for me last summer."

The portrait was of a woman and a man, their postures indicating that they were husband and wife, their clothes suggesting nobility. The man's hair looked pale orange in the daubed, ancient paint, and it was unkempt. The woman had long, grayish hair and held a book between her hands. Both were wearing circlets and cloaks.

"'Not sentimental'? God, Elijah, do you know how much this would be worth? Not to even mention the value to your family!"

"It's fine," he waved dismissively, "We thought you'd be more excited to have it than we would. She's going to donate everything else to the Pheraen History Museum anyway, so..." he paused, having glanced at Fae, and moved closer to investigate. "Fae! Why- are you crying?"

"Oh!" She rubbed at her eyes with the ball of her hand, and laughed. "No- no, I just got something in my eye, I'm all right."

Rolana and Elijah looked at each other, bewildered. The waitress rescued her by delivering their drinks at that moment. There was a flurry of moving glasses, after which Rolana asked for more time to browse the menu. By the time their server had left, Fae was fully recovered. She was looking directly at Elijah intently. He experienced for the first time the full weight of her gaze, and he seemed as captivated by it as all those before him had been.

"Who are you?" she asked him, looking straight through him. It seemed as if he wanted to ask her the same exact thing.

"Elijah's family tree can be traced back to the ancient Pheraen Marquesses," Rolana responded for him. "Back when Lycia was still an alliance of states rather than a country."

"So you are... related to Roy?" The girl brightened. Elijah scratched his cheek and laughed softly.

"Hah, Lord Roy..." he muttered at first, and then added more loudly, "Yeah, but it's not something I like to bring up in casual conversation. And that was a really long time ago- I bet there are a lot of people now in Pherae that have some nobility in them."

Fae clenched her fists on the table, and that same excitement she felt when she first caught a glimpse of his red hair returned. "That's amazing!"

"I thought so too," Rolana said, still every so often glancing down at the portrait. "When I found out I wanted to die of happiness."

"And I thought I was gonna die," Elijah told Fae with a grin, "she grabbed me by the shoulders and started to interrogate me about Lady Lilina, what I knew of her, if our family had any personal stories or accounts of her life. I had to pry her fingers off of me."

"How often does a scholar meet the living heir of a person they're dedicated to studying?" Rolana reasoned earnestly. Elijah laughed.

"Yes, but with the way you were shaking me, I was afraid that 'living' would no longer be the appropriate word to describe me." When Rolana moved to knock him on the head with her fist again, he shielded his head. "Watch it! This is the head of Lady Lilina's heir that you're hitting!"

When they had settled back into their seats and all heads were still intact, Fae made her verdict. "You're funny," she told Elijah. "I like you."

"Why, thank you," he responded in turn, and his smile etched her last statement permanently on her heart. "You're pretty cute yourself. I think I like you too."

She absolutely beamed.

The short proceeding silence was broken by Rolana's awkward cough.

"I don't believe there is anybody in the world who can say that sort of a thing so sincerely, Elijah. I'm glad at least in that way your uncle hasn't corrupted you."

Elijah rested his chin in his palm, his grin ever present. "No chance! He's far more charming than I could ever hope to be."

"I presume that you are all talking about me?"

The whole table jumped at the sudden voice, and sure enough the professor himself was standing beside the table with his hands in his pockets and Rolana's manuscript tucked under one elbow. Elijah rose to his feet and stuck out his open palm to greet his relative with a handshake.

"Zeke! It's good to see you again. How are you doing?"

"Well enough. I thought you lot might be here, so I came by. How are you, Elijah? How does your mother fare?"

"Good, the both of us. Thanks for asking."

"Do you have a present for me?" Rolana asked, eying the stack of paper under her supervisor's arm. He plucked it out and handed it to her.

"As promised." Then he gestured for Elijah to sit while he himself took the empty chair at the table.

"Thank you, sir," she said, but as she began to pull back the title page to look at Zeke's markup, he stopped her.

"As anxious as I know you are to get started on your revisions Rolana, I think you can afford to wait until after brunch. What difference will a single less hour of sleep make anyhow?"

She gave him a poisonous, accusing glare. Unaffected, he propped open a menu and began to scan it casually.

"You knocked out most of the revisions the last time around, so I would be surprised if it took you long anyways. It is a good work. I wouldn't have expected much less from you."

Her face did soften at that, and she dropped the title page so that it settled back onto the stack.

"When does your tournament begin?" Ezekiel asked after they made their orders with the waitress. Elijah yanked back a sleeve and glanced at his watch.

"At noon. It's at the university coliseum, so I'll have to leave here in an hour or so to get ready."

"Fae has a doctor's appointment around that time as well." Zeke raised an eyebrow at the subject in question. She was busily sweetening her iced tea.

"What for?" Rolana questioned.

"She will be enrolling in school soon, so it's nothing more than a routine check-up. Nothing serious."

"How did you meet each other?" Elijah asked as he replaced his sleeve. Fae stirred the glass with her straw and looked towards Ezekiel, not quite sure how to answer herself. He folded his hands and explained.

"Fae was a ward of the state for a few months. Through unfortunate circumstances, the Pheraen government discovered that her sister, her legal guardian, had passed away last year and that Fae was consequently living by herself. My colleague's wife is a social worker, and so I heard from the grapevine about her situation. Her story struck me. I decided last minute to stop by Pherae on my way back from Etruria to meet her. Since Fae only has a few years until she can be legally independent, and because she would have been put into the foster care program otherwise, I eventually made the decision to step in."

Fae was silent, adding no contribution to Ezekiel's story. She merely watched the ice and sugar crystals swirling in her glass.

It had already been a year. The granules of sugar floated slowly in the dark liquid, like snow suspended in the air. An odd shiver passed her face, but nobody noticed. There was a memory there that she did not even spare the slightest thought. Even if she allowed herself to think on and even shed a few tears for her old friends, those were her happiest memories. She dare not think on Idoun, not now. Especially since she had been a fool already, having allowed Elijah and Rolana to see her reaction to Roy and Lilina's portrait.

She put down her spoon and took a large gulp to swallow down the lump in her throat.

Ugh. It was bitter still.

"Wow," Elijah said, impressed by Zeke's story. Fae ripped open another sugar packet.

"How noble," Rolana assented. The professor shrugged unceremoniously.

"Not at all. I just ask that the two of you make Fae feel as welcome as you can. She's never been to Ostia before."

"You'll love it here," Elijah asserted, turning to Fae with a gleam in his eye. "There are so many things to see and do-and people from all over the world come to this city."

"I do like it already," the girl replied, allowing herself to be cheered by his attention, "I especially like the university. The buildings are so old and beautiful."

He thought for a moment.

"How's this? I'm only in Ostia for the rest of this week, but I have a lot of free time between matches. If Zeke is busy, I don't mind showing you around the city- it'd be a good excuse for me to go visit some of my favorite places too. The only thing is is that I have to get back to the coliseum for the tournament at certain times."

"I don't mind," Fae said quickly, glancing at Zeke who was giving Elijah a gesture of approval. "That sounds like it would be a lot of fun- and I'd also love to see the fencing tournament."

"Sure," Elijah answered, "though admittedly, it might be a little boring. I'm up against really talented fencers this year, so I hope I don't embarrass myself too much."

"Don't be so modest," Rolana countered, "You're a fine fencer yourself."

"As your father was," Zeke added. Though he seemed to be smiling faintly, there was a darkness in his voice that pricked at Fae's instincts. She also noticed a slight tremor in Elijah's happy exterior, but the boy seemed to accept his relative's words like the highest praise.

"Thank you," said he almost reverently. Fae realized immediately that Elijah's father, too, must be dead. The moment she realized it, she wished there was something she could say to him.

But when she thought about it again, was there anything anybody could have ever said to her? Even now?

"I'll look forward to it," Fae said instead. She truly meant it, as much as she could.

- o -

"The doctor you're going to see is also a researcher for genetics at the university," Zeke told Fae as they sat beside each other in the waiting room of the clinic. "She is rather renowned for her work as a scientist."

They had said their goodbyes after brunch at the Broken Egg and went to the clinic for Fae's appointment. She had seen a physician before, but medicine had changed enormously over the years. As Zeke spoke to her, she found herself constantly distracted by the screaming children or the colorful pictures on the magazines. There was a sterile, sour smell in the clinic, and the wallpaper was rather ugly. Fae hardly knew what to think of it all. She was too overwhelmed to properly access all that was happening to her.

"What's genetics?" Fae asked. The immediate questions seemed most simple to ask, even if they were for peripheral, irrelevant matters. He smiled knowingly, recognizing her overstimulated state.

"That's a good question. It's... well, how to explain it... did you know that all living things store information about themselves? This information determines what color a person's hair or eyes are, or whether they will be tall or short."

Fae looked a puzzled. He crossed his arms and clicked his tongue, trying to think of an alternative explanation.

"To put it another way... the body needs to keep records of everything about itself. These records are small, but hold the truth about what that person will be like on the outside, and even sometimes on the inside."

_Like my dragonstone? _the girl thought, but dare say nothing aloud.

"If you can read these records, you can understand a lot about a person. You can tell what they look like, whether they are male or female, or," he paused as the clerk called Fae's name, " or even their ethnicity. Genetics is the study of those records."

They stood and followed the clinician behind the door. Fae started then to feel a little anxious, and stuck close to her guardian as he exchanged a few words with the young nurse. The latter seemed taken in by Zeke's attentiveness immediately, and as they talked, Fae realized she was witnessing first-hand the charm that Rolana and Elijah had gossiped about earlier.

To her amazement, the nurse, whom they had just met seconds ago, laughed and lightly bat Zeke on the shoulder teasingly, as if retaliating for something he had just said. He laughed his low, unobtrusive laugh.

Hrm. She would never understand adults.

The nurse asked Fae to stand on a peculiar little platform. A number flashed on the small screen, which was presumably what the nurse recorded on her clipboard.

"They will be drawing your blood for testing," Zeke said as the nurse took Fae's height.

"How?" Fae asked, startled. Zeke raised an eyebrow as if it was a strange question, but smiled kindly.

"I would assume they will be using a needle."

"A..."

The nurse must have seen the look of pure distress on her patient's face because she patted her on the shoulder. Her high voice was a little too saccharine. "Oh, don't worry dear! You won't feel a thing."

"You'll be fine," Zeke affirmed, and he sounded so sure of this that she allowed herself to be assured. It seemed like he was about to say something more, but he had halted mid-breath. Fae looked up, and on the other side of the room, a woman in a white coat was escorting someone into the hall from which they had just come. As they disappeared around the corner, he asked the nurse, "Was that Dr. Hart?"

She became a little stiff at Ezekiel's sudden interest in the new woman.

"Yes, that was."

"If you would excuse me," Zeke said, and went his way in that same direction. The nurse pursed her lips, and asked Fae to follow her into the opposite hall for the rest of the check-up.

Fae followed blankly, still trying to imagine what they were going to do to her with a needle.

- o -

"Dr. Hart," he called after her, and she turned. Elaine Hart was tall, with a highly professional air. Her dark maroon hair was pinned up and she wore a dark skirt with a bright woolen turtleneck under her white coat.

"And you are?" She had a rather prominent Bernese accent and a sophisticated nature about her, a sort of classical beauty with formal severity. Undaunted, Ezekiel extended a hand in greeting.

"I'm Zeke Lyman. We corresponded over email the past week."

"Dr. Lyman," she responded with a very slight smile and a handshake. "It's good to meet you. I assume that you are here on the business you wrote about?"

"You assume correctly. Do you have a moment?" he asked, and she glanced at the clock on the wall, then towards the waiting room. "It will only be a moment- I understand that you are a busy person."

"All right," she said, still a little hesitantly. She gestured towards one of the ajar doors on the other side of the receptionist's desk. "We can speak in my office."

"I know that this is an audacious request for me to make," said Zeke as he closed the door of the office behind him, "considering your prominence in both medicine and science, and I am only but a stranger-"

"What can I do for you, Dr. Lyman? Please speak plainly." She sat down on her side of the clean desk, and gestured for him to do the same. Her curt courtesy made him smile slightly. There was a strange sort of tension. He was accustomed to unspoken academic size-upping, the comparison of achievements, and the intellectual competition. Having interacted with many experts and educators from diverse fields of study, it was impossible to avoid others who were just as brilliant as he was-especially at an institution as renowned as Ostia's.

And yet, as he took his seat across from this Bernese woman, with both a medical and a doctorate degree to her name, he felt that already they were sitting down to a different game. Not of intelligence or wit... but something else entirely.

It was a peculiar thing, he thought. That without words or even body language, two people could sense inherently the kind of relationship shared between them by first impression.

"I am grateful that you have agreed to analyze the blood sample of the girl under my care. But I am concerned about her heritage. I imagine most of the genetic analysis mostly done via computer scripts and programs. Is that correct?"

"Yes," she confirmed, folding her hands together. "We have a library of human genetic sequences that contain every common trait, disease or condition. Our processes are able to screen any DNA sample with this library so that we may detect any genotypes of concern."

Zeke's grasp of grade school biology was being tested to its limits. But fortunately, having once been a student of the liberal arts, his ability to equivocate and falsely insinuating his competence was above par. In his mind, it was the more practical skill to have.

_It's all about the jargon, whether it be for politics, history or science, _he thought to himself, chuckling internally. But aloud, he said: "Most likely you have a technician running these processes?"

"Yes. It is all done in my lab."

"Well, this is where my request comes in. I would rather prefer that you personally look at the code instead."

A pause. He could tell that she was discontent with what he was asking of her. It was audacious, she seemed to agree.

"May I ask why? The technicians in my lab are more than capable of what you are asking."

"As I expressed earlier, I am concerned about Fae. She has absolutely no documented medical history. I would prefer that a trained medical professional ran the analysis, and I am quite particular about this. Of all the geneticist physicians I researched, I chose you specifically because I feel that I can trust your credentials."

She took a deep breath. It was the most unprofessional gesture he had seen her perform yet.

"Please," he continued gently, "Fae is very special. If it is a matter of your time, I would be glad to financially compensate you for it."

"That's not what I want," she said at last, "and while I appreciate that you acknowledge the imposition of your request, I must say frankly it is quite an imposition. But you seem like someone who would insist upon your way, and I do not wish to argue. It would be faster for me to grant you this."

"You are an astute judge of character." The corner of Zeke's lips curled into a smile, and he inclined his head. "Thank you."

As they stood, Zeke ventured on another topic, in a more casual tone.

"By the way, I happened across one of your old papers when I was researching geneticists. It seemed as if you did work with the phylogenetics of wyverns during your studies in Bern."

"I did, long ago. What of it?" He opened the door for her, and they stepped back into the hall.

"I was just curious. I had never seen a wyvern up close before, but since I was young I always liked them."

Dr. Hart glanced at the schedule on the wall and replied a little absently. "They are fascinating creatures. Their genome is surprisingly very small, despite their impressive physical size. There has been very little evolutionary variation in their species."

"I see," he said, seeming satisfied. "Well, I shan't take any more of your time. Thank you once again, Dr. Hart. I can't express how immensely grateful I am to you."

"I'll let you know about the results within a week," the doctor returned, batting away his expression of gratitude. "If there is anything alarming about them, I will get in touch with you personally."

_Oh, undoubtedly you will,_ the professor agreed as he took his leave. Yes, he was quite certain of that.


	8. VII The Acolyte

**Age of Pretense**

Fire Emblem: The Sword of Seals and the Blazing Sword

by eolianstar

**GENETIC CONSERVATION IN **_**DRACONAE WYVERA **_**SUGGESTS RESISTANCE TO RETROVIRAL INFECTION**

Elaine J. Hart

S. E. Jaeger, M. N. Kahn

20th of Elfire, 2998

Department of Genetics and Evolutionary Biology

Canton University

Langasse, Bern

**ABSTRACT**

Throughout evolutionary history, the appearance of repeating sequences as artifacts of ancient retroviral integration has been noted to occur to varying degrees in eukaryotic organisms across all genuses. In a recent recovery of DNA from the fossils of a _draconae wyvera_ that was dated as early as 1020 AS, we have discovered very little genetic deviation from the genome of the common, present day Bernese Wyvern. More remarkably, in the statistical analysis of the phylogenetic relatives of the _draconae wyvera_, such as the _varanus ilium_ and samples of 32 other species of the varanidae family, we have noted significant deposits of repeating transposable elements that are homologous to several known retroviral genomes. This incongruence seems to suggest that the _draconae wyvera_ is not only unique for its compact, evolutionarily stable genome, but also for host resistance against viral or transposon integration.

**VII. The Acolyte**

His way was unassuming. There was little flourish about the way he handled his weapon, but every stroke was deliberate, precise.

Fae was by no means an expert, but over the years she had seen many wield a sword with varying degrees of mastery. As she sat in the stands, watching the figures circling and engaging each other, Fae observed each thrust and parry with great interest. She thought that the white suits looked funny, she was glad to see the flash of red hair beneath the metallic grid of his mask. After a while, her familiarity with his style also allowed her to distinguish him from his adversary.

More interestingly, she thought, was how her mind was so trained to brace itself for the blood. She expected the cries of agony, the mess, the death. Instead, each point of contact merely bent the floppy swords in a supple arc and begot an electronic tone from the machine to which the suits were connected. It was so civil and clean that the whole affair seemed almost silly to her.

But Elijah was skilled; he was well-rounded, with no significant strengths, but neither any obvious weaknesses. In that way, Fae had to secretly agree that his style was formal- yes, perhaps even boring, compared to the more showy contestants. Yet she was determined to be the best supporter she could be. The first time she cheered and shouted his name over the crowd, he visibly jumped and was nearly struck on the shoulder by his opponent. Her voice carried remarkably well.

She felt a little pride, even if only by association, when he won his first two matches of the competition. She only heard about the first one, since she had been at the clinic at the time (a memory she tried to happily forget) but managed to catch the last half of the second.

"I was really surprised," he said when she met him on the floor after his victory. His mask was pulled off, his hair damp and even messier than before. Despite still breathing heavily, he flashed her a smile"You seemed like a quiet person, so I didn't think you could cheer so loudly."

"I'm quiet?" Fae wondered aloud, a little surprised. She had never been described that way before; she couldn't imagine any of her old friends saying that about her. But maybe nowadays.. she was a little more timid. She made a discontented face. "I guess it's true. I'm not sure if I like it when I'm like that though."

"What a weird thing to say!" Elijah laughed as he dabbed his neck with a towel, "You can only be who you are, right?"

_And I am...?_ Her questioning prompt trailed off in her mind, but before she could respond, he spoke again.

"But thanks, I need the morale. It makes me want to win even more." She inclined her head to one side, unable to keep the satisfaction from her face.

"Mm, it's more fun this way! It makes me want you to win even more too." She liked being appreciated again, even if only in this small way.

At this point, someone called Elijah's name, and they turned.

"Hey, I'm going to go talk to my coach really quickly." He stepped away and pointed a thumb over his shoulder, referring to the man waving him down. "And then after I change and wash up a bit, I'll meet you at the coliseum entrance, okay?"

So they separated for the meanwhile. Fae followed the retreating crowd towards one of the exits. At one point, she lagged behind and hopped onto one of the low balustrades, balancing along the edge, heel to toe.

A coliseum, huh? It was more a gymnasium than anything, with a bowl-shape to accommodate the seating. It didn't even seem as though it had even ever been a serviceable coliseum; everything about the building seemed new.

But perhaps it had long passed the age in which fights to the death were considered legitimate entertainment. Oh, she remembered cheering loudly for those matches-and not only herself, but the whole crowd would roar and chant the names of the champions. It was so exciting, even if it had been perhaps a little barbaric. She had been forbidden to participate herself... Roy would never allow it.

"I would have destroyed you all! I would have been champion!" she said gleefully, towards the center of the arena where the workers were now cleaning. Nobody heard her, which was fine. She was being silly anyways.

Yes. She liked herself better that way. A grin spread on her face.

Then, that prickling feeling, like the one from the courtyard at the university, returned, stronger this time. It ran up her spine like a dark premonition, and smile on her face instantly fell away. She looked about sharply. The closest person to her was an old janitor, sweeping through the rows, dropping garbage into a plastic bag. There were pockets of other groups still lingering in the stands or on the floor, all seemingly preoccupied in their conversations or with cleaning. Someone somewhere was observing her.

Then, feeling a little spooked, the self-proclaimed champion of the coliseum hopped off the ledge and ran after the receding crowd, anxious to find cover.

- o -

Rolana was still in the office working on her paper, and nobody knew where Zeke had gone. When Fae inquired about him, Elijah merely shrugged and laughed. "He always just takes off without warning. He's just like that."

"Yes," Rolana added disapprovingly, allowing her concentration to break as she looked up from her manuscript with a frown. "Like his impromptu trip to Pherae after coming back from Etruria. It would be a much more agreeable trait if he merely communicated his whims to those affected by them."

Fae wasn't quite sure if that was a trait she wanted in her legal guardian at all. But she chose not to say anything, seeing how she had been the reason for Zeke's delayed return to Ostia. The fact that the graduate student kept bringing it up made Fae suspect that she had not completely forgiven him for it.

So Elijah and Fae decided to go pick up dinner so that she did not have to forego eating as well as sleeping. He mentioned a place that Rolana was particularly fond of, so the two set out once again, allowing the student the peace and silence to continue working on her paper.

The city at night time was still a flurry of pedestrian traffic. They walked alongside the row of restaurants lining the east side of campus, squeezing between the groups and couples with whom they shared the pavement. It was late in the year, so darkness crept in early and the streetlamps automatically blinked on as they walked. Their conversation was cheery and polite, with Elijah pointing out different sights around the city. They stopped only once to admire the musicians performing on the corner.

Elijah looked much fresher now that he had properly taken care of himself. Unlike the morning, he was not wearing glasses and his clothes were more suited for public. He also carried a backpack instead of the sports bag from before. The zipper had to be left partially open in order to accommodate the fencing sword that protruded out. According to Elijah, the competitors in the tournament were granted a discount at select eateries if they presented their weapons. Sure enough, Fae noticed many other people with swords slung over their shoulder or tucked into bags. It was a pleasantly nostalgic sight, though she supposed it was a good thing that it was no longer necessary to be armed in this way.

They arrived at the very casual, very cozy little shop at the corner. The window gleamed with light and warmth, casting an orange glow on the pavement. Elijah had mentioned that the restaurant specialized in pies, and sure enough, several decorated the display. Flaky looking lattices and sticky fruit toppings served as the main temptations- but Fae's interest was drawn immediately to the company's banner.

The insignia upon it depicted a small, strangely proportioned draconic figure. It looked more like a lizard with bat-wings that a dragon. The legs were so thick and awkward looking, she almost laughed.

"What is that?" Fae asked as they stood in front of the shop window. The light from the window reached Elijah's eyes as he pointed to the year of establishment also printed on the banner.

"There's actually a famous story about this pie company. They say that long ago, when Lycia was at war with Bern, Ostia was under a siege that lasted months. It was at a time of great famine as well, so the food supply had been already low. The story goes to say that the Marquess of Ostia was a fearsome warrior, and also had a great fondness for pies. After he led his army to victory, he had the castle chefs slaughter the enemies' wyverns, and as the ultimate rub against Bern, they celebrated their triumph by feasting on wyvern pies that night. It's still one of the company's specialties to this day. The 'wyvern delight' is actually Zeke's favorite."

She must have had a look of abject horror on her face, because he burst into a fit of laughter so destabilizing that he had to lean against the glass to support himself.

"Elijah!" Fae pouted, genuine concern now replacing the horror, "That's a terrible story! How could you laugh?"

"I'm sorry, your face..." he managed to get out before the onset of another round of laughter. He must have replayed her reaction in his mind's eye. When his mirth had mostly subsided, he excused himself again. "I'm sorry- I didn't expect you believe it so easily. Don't worry, we're all pretty sure it's actually chicken. At least, that's what the menu says. The name is more for the fun of it, and I don't even think the story is actually true."

She allowed herself some relief, though in the back of her mind she still felt a little disturbed. As witless as wyverns were, the thought of eating them seemed to her like a mild form of cannibalism.

When they stepped inside, the warmth flushed Fae's cheeks and she felt them burn with the contrast in temperature. The rich aromas wafting inside made her suddenly aware how hungry she was, despite the unappetizing local legend that had allegedly birthed this pie shop.

Since they had already called in ahead of time, their order was ready when they arrived. Five white boxes were waiting on the counter for them. They had ordered for Zeke too, in case he had returned by the time they got back. The fifth box was a little larger- it held the berry pie for all of them to share for dessert. After showing the hostess his sword (a slender foil with a bronze guard), Elijah paid with money Rolana had given them. They left shortly afterwards, Fae carrying two of the boxes, Elijah carrying three.

But as Fae turned towards the direction from which they had come, Elijah stopped her, and nodded towards a different direction.

"What is it?" she asked him, adjusting the boxes in her hands. They were still warm from the contents, a sensation she savored against the chill evening air.

"I know another way- let's take a different route back, just for the change in scenery. What do you think?"

The other way was considerably less populated, and exposed the backside of the stores and apartments. The spindly iron frames of the fire escapes and telephone lines were not quite scenic, but the glow of the windows shone yellow against the bluish shadows. Farther along, there were lights strung on balconies, and it was rather pretty. For being a darker path, the ground and walls were kept clean and graffiti free.

"It's much quieter," Fae said, and was much more aware of the cloud of vapor passing out of her lips. Her arm throbbed a little with the slight strain of carrying the boxes. Normally the weight would have been manageable, but her left arm felt so achey. She could feel the tautness of the tape pressing the cotton swab against her forearm.

"I used to take this route back home during my internship." Elijah looked up, at the band of bluish sky above. His breath twirled in the cold air above, and was lost in the darkness. "Sometimes being between the buildings makes me more aware of how small I really am."

Fae could understand that. Sometimes the unrelenting churning of time, or the view from rooftops made her feel that way too.

In the distance, Fae could hear the faint tap-tap-tap of running. She paid little heed to it at first as other distant sounds, like the far-off calling of a train horn or the murmuring of voices from the balconies, competed for the noise space. After a little while, she furrowed her brow, because it seemed to be getting louder and closer.

"Do you hear something?" she asked Elijah. He was silent and strained to listen. Soon, there was also a resounding crash, like many objects clattering to the ground, followed by distraught shouting. The two shot each other a look, and simultaneously half-ran towards the sound, being careful not to drop their dinners.

Ahead, they saw that someone had fallen and knocked over a couple bins of trash. The waste speckled the pavement as another bin clattered to the ground. Two figures struggled against each other, dangerously close to knocking another over.

The taller figure was a lady dressed in form-fitting clothes. She was grappling a boy and had just about subdued him. As he fought her, her hand slipped off his mouth and he managed to cry out for help before being hastily silenced once again. Her long auburn hair fell over her shoulders as she straddled him to fully pin him down.

"Hey!" Elijah shouted, quickly setting the boxes on a stair as he approached. Both strangers glanced in their direction, the woman with annoyance, the boy with narrowed, determined eyes.

"This is none of your business," the woman growled, her Etruscan accent prominent in each word. Upon closer inspection, it seemed that she was not that too much older than them, but she was well-built and her arms and legs were lean and muscular. "Back off if you know what's good for you."

Among the strewn garbage, Fae saw the flash of movement and drew her gaze towards a book lying open on the ground beside the victim's head. The pages chattered in the wind, revealing a writing she recognized but had not seen in many years. Startled, she glanced back at the strangers, and noticed that the boy in particular was looking at her intently from his restrained position. Was that a look of recognition?

Elijah seemed to be trying to access the situation. He did not back up like the woman had ordered, but raised his hands to the level of his chest to indicate a sense of submission. Of course, his sword handle was visibly sticking out over his shoulder, which was not making him convincingly unthreatening.

"How about we let him up and make sure he's alright?" he suggested slowly. Although at the moment it looked like the assailant was unarmed, both Fae and Elijah could sense that she was not someone to take lightly. "Then we can figure out a solution that would be best for everyone."

"This is a runaway," the Etrurian woman said sharply, not taking to his calm tone. "I'm taking him back home where he belongs, so we don't need your assistance." With her head turned, she had not noticed that the boy's hand was slowly reaching for the open book. Fae gasped and was about to blurt out something, but the movement afterward was so quick, the light so blinding that all she could do was grab Elijah's arm and stumble back in response.

The woman cried out in surprise and pain. Fae felt someone take her hand and yank her down the street, which transitively yanked Elijah behind her. The boxes tumbled out completely from her arms, and burst open on the ground.

"What..." she began, still blinking the sparks from her eyes. They cleared to the view of the boy's blonde head. He looked back to make sure she was all right.

"Hurry," he gasped, his voice strained. He too, seemed to be Etruscan. "There are others coming."

"What on earth just happened?" Elijah questioned behind her, appearing just as stunned as she was. The strange youth said nothing in response, and continued to lead them on a winding route through the alleys. Far off behind them, they heard the woman scream out what seemed to be someone's name.

"_Thierry_! I need your help!"

The hand squeezed Fae's at the sound, and their pace quickened.

When they spilled out into a more public road, the strange boy tugged them into the traffic of other pedestrians. Here, they slowed a little, the boy seemingly confident that his pursuers would not attempt to wrangle him in front of a crowd.

He looked back for good measure. Fae caught her breath, her hand on her chest. Elijah made sound of alarm as he indicated the boy's head.

"You're bleeding!"

He reached up and touched his temple. His fingers came away red. He was still panting too, still clutching the book to his chest.

"I'm all right, but we shouldn't linger too long."

"So," Elijah began, a slight frown etched on his brow. "Can you explain what's going on?"

Fae glanced suspiciously at the tome. The boy followed her gaze, and upon realizing what she was looking at, quickly spoke up before she asked a question of her own. Elijah's question remained ignored.

"I- I've been looking for you," he said, looking directly at Fae. "I... need your help." His words surprised them both.

"Me?" Fae said perplexedly. "Do I know you?"

"It's not safe here to talk," he replied quickly, glancing behind them once again. Fae and Elijah stared at him, and then at each other, dumbstruck and unsure of how to react. The stranger turned back, the urgency darkening his expression. "Please."

Elijah sighed, looking down at his empty hands.

"Maybe we ought to get back. Rolana might start to worry about us." Fae noticed then that her hands were empty too; she had dropped all her boxes during their flight, and Elijah had left his behind altogether.

"Will he come with us?" Fae asked, glancing once again at their newly acquired companion. She observed his injured head, his flushed cheeks and anxious expression. His book was held more inconspicuously at his side, the gold cover shining under the streetlight. Then the delayed realization of what had just happened crashed down on her. He had used magic!

"Yeah," Elijah nodded, then addressed him directly. "Come with us. Don't worry. Whatever the problem is, we'll get everything sorted out."


	9. VIII Fathers and Homelands

**Age of Pretense**

Fire Emblem: The Sword of Seals and the Blazing Sword

by eolianstar

[First Entry in Sheno's Travel Log.]

_1st of Fimbulvetr, 3012_

_We crossed over a long distance today, and passed through the edge towns of Lycia. I traded another book for this one, as it seemed right to keep a record of my journey. The landscape and cities are too bright for me to ever forget the sight of them, and yet I do not wish to forget. I have chosen to write in Kutohl, matching the sounds with Ilian figures. Attempting to describe anything in Ilian would be unjust. But the task comes with some difficulty._

_Amaranthe has fair knowledge of common Elibean, which has been a treasured skill as fewer people speak Ilian the farther west we go. I know only a few words, and so have asked her to teach me. Johann knows none at all, but has no wish to learn. I wish to obtain a Lycian book once the opportunity arises. _

_The city we are destined for is in central Lycia. I strongly believe that the man Amaranthe is seeking has to do with the bow that she hides in her bag. So far, she has chosen not to reveal it to me. She appears happy, but I know that she is anxious and protects many secrets. _

_Each passing day the people have fairer skin and more colorful hair. I have never seen such colors before. Many stare, which makes Teru uncomfortable. _

_The roads are drawn clearly, and automobiles are common. Farms are also common, and we pass many along the road. The weather is now cold, and has been consistent since we left the mountains._

_The sky is also blue in these lands. But it is not the same._

**VIII. Fathers and Homelands**

"My name is Lionel Ivaldi," he said, and then sharply inhaled as Elijah tended to the cut on his head. Fae sat next to him on the bench outside Zeke's office, watching and listening intently. Elijah had retrieved the first aid kit from the supply closet, and was presently dabbing an alcohol wipe over the wound. The boy called Lionel paused, perhaps to get used to the pain or to plan his next words.

He was... pretty, Fae thought immediately. Now that they were in a well-lit place, she could observe his gently sloping brow, his high, rounded cheeks and clear blue eyes. He was also tall and slender in frame. It was not so strange, she supposed, as it seemed more accepted, desired even, for men in Etruria to have a more effeminate beauty. Even for having been tackled to the ground, his short hair fell in a way that enhanced his looks. Elijah's was always a little messy, at any rate. Lional also seemed to be comparable in age to the two of them, though Fae had guessed earlier that he was younger.

Fae and Elijah waited expectantly. Lionel blew his cheeks out in a somewhat defeated gesture.

"I don't even know where to begin. You're going to think I'm crazy, however I tell it."

Fae glanced pointedly at the book resting in his lap, and his finger tensed against the binding in response.

"Try," she prompted, glancing back up into his face. He averted his gaze. Elijah threw away the soiled wipe and rummaged through the plastic kit.

"I was born into a secret religious society that deviated from the Eliminean Church centuries ago. They call themselves The Divine Way of St. Elimine. My mother was the High Priestess, and she dedicated us - that is, my sisters and I, to serve the Way for the rest of our lives."

"Secret religious society?" Fae was puzzled.

"You mean... a cult," Elijah said, one eyebrow slightly raised as he unscrewed the cap to a tube labelled 'vulnerary'. Fae smiled to herself. Lionel sighed.

"In essence, yes."

"Go on," Fae urged, redirecting her attention towards the speaker.

"They believe that St. Elimine, during her life, was able to purify her soul and achieved godhood when she ascended from the Tower of the Saint. Most of the Way's rituals involve praying to her as the goddess, rather than as an intercessor, which is the orthodox Eliminean belief. But what's most important is that there are many apocryphal texts in the Way that prophesy her return as a human. That she'll be incarnate among us when the threat of dragons rises again in Elibe. They are awaiting her. They believe she'll unite humanity in the final war of the world."

Fae felt something tighten inside, but she was mostly confused. It was impossible. She was the last...

"'They' believe?" Elijah interjected, rescuing her from thinking any longer on the matter. "Does that mean you don't adhere to them yourself?"

"No," Lionel responded firmly. "I'm an Eliminean. But the Way is gaining significant followership. In the past it was a secret organization for those they consider the elect, but in these recent years it was said that St. Elimine's advent was fast approaching. They'd been moving in more radical ways. My sister, she..."

He paused here as Elijah brushed back his hair and pressed a medicated pad of cotton to the cut. Lionel lifted a hand and held the makeshift bandage in place himself as Elijah cleared away the medical supplies, and resumed his story.

"It was only just this year that they determined that my sister, Irene, is Elimine reincarnated. It's because she has the gift of healing. I know, you might be thinking that it's just a bunch of psychological hullabaloo that happens with people in a religious frenzy, but that part is true. She does have that gift. In a single instance she could have completely healed this cut and you wouldn't have even known it was there to begin with."

"I believe you," Fae said, though she could see Elijah remained unconvinced. This time, Lionel did look at her, and she smiled. There was a short silence, for there was obviously a question Fae was eager to ask, though she had trouble putting it to words. "Does that mean that they want to go to war? With... dragons?"

"The first prophecy that speaks of St. Elimine's return says that she will rise to power when the first dragon reappears on Elibe, because after that, a whole army of dragons will return."

"Dragons?" Elijah asked, and the questioning tone in his voice made Fae's heart break. Oh, it hurt her so much. Was it better to be known and hated, rather than unknown and irrelevant?

But determined to not give herself away, she kept her face as stony as she could. Before Lionel could answer, she cut in. "What does all of this have to do with me? Why were you looking for me? How do you know who I am?"

Lionel made a sheepish face that seemed to suggest that he had more hard-to-believe things to say.

"I... my sister saw you in a vision while she was praying. I know, it sounds crazy," he disclaimed once again. "Sometimes God speaks to her. He warned us once before, and... well, we chose to ignore it, and something terrible happened." His jaw tightened at this, as if the memory made him both angry and remorseful at the same time. "But my sister definitely saw you. She described you as a girl of about fifteen years, with dark magenta colored hair and large, amazingly green eyes. She saw you in Ostia, and she said you could help us."

Fae wanted to get excited. She wanted to believe against all hope that this was the reason why Sophia had instructed her to be in this city. Elijah continued on the side of caution, and set a hand lightly on Fae's shoulder almost protectively. He addressed Lionel gently, but resolutely.

"I'm sorry, I want to believe you and think that this is all true. But what you said doesn't prove anything- you could have made that up just upon seeing her now."

Lionel looked a little annoyed and Fae could not help but feel the disappointment at Elijah's point. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps this was all crazy; it was all so sudden, and rationally, the story left too many questions unanswered-

"I also know that you have a bright yellow stone."

Lionel's words cut through Fae like a sword.

"What did you say?"

Even Elijah was taken aback by the alarm in her tone, and she should have known better than to react so strongly. Lionel's brow was drawn down in a determined expression, but he did not repeat what he had said.

"I want to help my sister escape. We have never known freedom; our lives have always been dictated by the Way. They are a dangerous organization. Now that Irene has a larger role in this mess, they'll use her. I don't know if there will be a war, but they'll use her politically. They already started to... I can't even begin to describe how deep their influences are even now. It might seem convenient of me to claim that this society is mostly secret, which accounts for why you have never heard of them, but what would I have to gain in deceiving you, or anybody else?"

There was no way he could have known about her dragonstone... could he? Even now, it remained hidden in its shoebox, between the bedframe and the mattress at Ezekiel's apartment. But the knowing look in Lionel's gaze, the secrets that still lay unearthed there made her fear that he knew even more than this.

"But what could I do?" Her voice was laced with fear. It was pitiable how quickly her excitement melted away. Perhaps she was to be pitied. Now, more than ever before, even more than sitting in that lonely apartment in Pherae, more than standing on the rooftop overlooking Ostia, she felt so alone.

"Come with me," Lionel urged. Before he could say anything more, the door to the office swung open and all three flinched as if they had been caught in wrongdoing. Rolana stood there, her arms crossed, a pen still in between her thumb and forefinger.

"You don't have to do anything, Fae," the graduate student said, her face crinkled in an expression even sterner than the ones directed towards her supervisor.

Lionel looked a little miffed again at his opposition, and jumped up from his seat, still holding the cotton to his head. But before he could accuse her of eavesdropping, she directed her intense amber eyes directly towards him. "You should go home before you're missed. Fae is under our care now, and so I hope you'll understand that it's our priority to protect her."

Despite the woman's icy tone, Fae felt herself a little warmed by her words. Lionel looked both angry and frustrated at this point, though these emotions seemed more like a reaction to her latter comment, rather than towards her interference as a whole.

"You don't understand." He set his jaw. "I don't have a home to go to. Aside from my sister, I'm alone in this world."

There was no change in Rolana's expression, but she still seemed unconvinced. Fae also got to her feet, stepped between them and spread out her hands, shielding Lionel from Rolana's unrelenting gaze.

"I want to help him," Fae said at last, with as much firmness in her voice as she could muster. It was not too difficult, because by now the conviction had set. All she had to do was place herself in Lionel's shoes- if Idoun had been in trouble, how could she have expressed to someone else that she needed help, especially as ludicrous as their history and identity was? Was Lionel's story any more ludicrous? "I believe him."

Even with Fae's intervention, Rolana unwavered. "In the end, you don't have a choice. Legally, you're under Zeke's authority now, so you can't-"

"That's enough, Rolana."

Ezekiel came up behind her, and pulled the door open wider. The serious air about him indicated that he too, had heard everything. He must have returned earlier than they had-Fae had assumed that he was still on his mysterious errand.

But he surprised them all when he glanced at the blond instigator for the first time and exclaimed more loudly and sharply than expected, considering his usual calmness. "You!"

The Etruscan jumped back, raising his free arm as if to shield himself, still awkwardly keeping the cotton pressed to his head. If Fae had not been in such a heavy mood, she surely would have laughed at the sight. Though it appeared Zeke had recognized him, Lionel did not seem to know the professor at all, and was just as surprised as everyone else.

"W-what?"

"You're that kid at the train station! The one with the book!" Zeke sounded almost accusing, but his words were not very enlightening to any of them. Upon the mention of the book, Lionel quickly looked at the bench, where it had fallen out of his lap when he got up. Ezekiel had traced this movement and saw it lying there as well. Then the two of them made brief eye contact, paused only ever so slightly, and lunged towards it simultaneously.

Zeke was faster and barely managed to scoop it off the bench. The tips of Lionel's fingers just about grazed the edge of the binding. The older man stepped back and opened the cover, much to the boy's dismay.

"Give it back! What do you think you're doing?"

Rolana frowned and curiously looked into the book from Zeke's side, adjusting her glasses to focus on the rows of handwritten script. "It's nonsense... it doesn't make any sense."

_Because you can't read it,_ Fae thought. Could Lionel? He was looking more grave as the professor paged through it carefully.

"Where did you get this?" Zeke asked at last, snapping the book shut. Lionel stared back defiantly.

"It's mine. The Way has many books like this one, though only few of these. It's one of the rarer tomes."

"Is this... religious society, as you called it, based in Etruria then?"

"The followers are everywhere. But most are Etruscan, yes. Now may I please have it back? I don't know if this is normal in Lycia, but I'm not accustomed to strangers taking my things without warning."

Zeke smiled, his eyebrows lifting.

"Then I'm sorry to have given you a poor impression of Lycian courtesy," he said, somehow able to lighten the atmosphere with that single sentence. He gave back the book, and Lionel took it expressionlessly. "Perhaps we can talk some more inside. Then I'll give your case more consideration."

- o -

"We ran into each other at the train station yesterday night, though it appears you don't remember. You looked as if you were running away from someone."

Zeke sat at his desk, hands folded in front of him. Lionel was seated across from him, looking back impassively. Whereas he had been adamant with Elijah, Fae, and even with Rolana, in Ezekiel's presence, he seemed much more quiet, uncomfortable even.

_An aversion to authority figures?_ The professor guessed, observing the Etruscan carefully. When the latter failed to give a reply, Zeke prompted him more specifically. "Why were you in such a hurry?"

"I saw someone there that I didn't expect to see. He should have been in Pherae."

The answer was very vague, but something about it reminded Zeke of something else unusual that had happened at the station. It was a long-shot, but he took the chance. "Lysander Farey?"

The reaction was immediate, and Zeke could not help but feel a little satisfaction for having hit the target square on the mark. Lionel recovered from the shock and tightened his pretty face. Suddenly, Ezekiel began to make more logical leaps that would help him probe deeper. "You and your sister. You two are the siblings that he adopted recently from Etruria, aren't you? He mentioned that your mother passed away recently."

Lionel betrayed no look of sadness or pain. Instead, he continued to gaze back defiantly.

Zeke sighed and leaned back in his chair. Teenagers. But this changed things immensely. If Lysander was involved, the boy's story and knowledge about the Pheraen governor's activities were incredibly more important than his possession of the Etruscan tome. He had to know more.

"Knowing that you've run away, I have no choice but to contact Lysander about your whereabouts unless I have a valid reason not to. That is my legal and moral obligation. And what I've gathered from your behavior and answers, I'm led to believe that you are not only avoiding him, but also defying him. Thus it'd be in your best interest to tell me everything you know, because the default is not leaning towards your favor."

At this, Lionel looked away.

"How could you help me, even if you did know? And especially since you seem to know Lysander, why should I trust you? I'm sorry if I seem rude, but there are things I can't tell just anyone. I have someone to protect."

The professor could sense him closing up, and he somehow knew that once that door closed, he would have a very difficult time opening it again. Attempting a new approach, he made sure to choose his wording carefully.

"Look. I want to be able to help you, but like Rolana mentioned earlier, Fae is under my guardianship and it is my duty to watch over her. You can imagine that coming along and asking her to run off with you is a little problematic for me. If I don't have a better understanding of who you are and what your situation is exactly, there's nothing I can do. I have someone to protect too. If it involves her, I will do my best to help her help you."

As soon as the words left him, he realized that they were the wrong things to say. Evidently Lionel harbored disdain or fear for Lysander, his own legal guardian. How could he sympathize with this plea?

And for all his calculating, planning and intentions, the professor felt a sort of sadness. _I have here a fatherless generation in my office. Who am I to impersonate someone of that important of a role? I would not then... can I now?_

As if on cue, he heard Elijah's laughter, muffled, but very apparent, from the other room. He closed his eyes and not for the first time, wondered if he was doing the right thing.

"She doesn't need your protection," was all Lionel said to this. And the door swung shut.

- o -

In light of their lost pies, Elijah made a call for Cayan takeout for dinner. Fae had anticipated Rolana's annoyance towards the loss, but the graduate student merely shrugged, suggested takeout and returned to her work.

After the food arrived, Elijah made conversation with Fae, drawing her attention away from Zeke's door, behind which he and Lionel were having their talk. She had never eaten Cayan food before; it was quite different from anything she ever had. There were so many unknown spices and smells. The aromatic dishes were saucy and vegetable-rich, meant to be eaten along with a fragrant flatbread. Everything was individually packaged in hexagonal boxes covered with a pretty wrapping paper.

When he served her one of the side dishes with meat, she looked at it curiously. He jumped on the opportunity to tease her. "Completely wyvern-free, I swear to you."

She laughed and took the plate from him. "Thank you. Where does Cayan food come from?"

"The Cayans, of course," Elijah replied as he plopped another serving onto a new plate for Rolana. "Do you know who they are? During the Great Ilian Winters and the war, many Sacaen tribes and families fled the violence and became nomadic caravans that travelled Elibe. Since then, they've developed their own culture and language and are sociologically considered a different people group of their own."

That was something hard to imagine. She remembered the Sacaens and their pride, the immense love they had for their lands. Could time truly change that much? And was she so behind in history that she was unaware of even the most basic knowledge of the present Elibe?

She sighed, knowing Elijah and Zeke must think her so ignorant. Elijah noticed her despondence. "What's wrong?"

"Oh. I guess it's just sad. The Sacaens loved their homelands, so to always be wandering far away, and even forget that love... but I suppose that's just how it is." She felt like she had been saying the last clause to herself over and over again. It was not any more a comforting now either.

"There are a few tribes still left, but they live on reserves set aside for them during the Treaty of New Edessa. But yeah, it is awful. What's more sad is that what started the conflict was when the Ilians were forced out of their homes during the Winters, which led them to invade the Sacae plains. It makes me wonder if generally, we as humans long for a place of belonging, and that's what war is sometimes truly about. Even in the ancient ballads and legends of the Scouring, what was at stake was the right to live in one's homeland. Maybe that insecurity or threat is what causes people to hate and do cruel things to others. Ah, but I'm rambling now..."

He left it at that, and excused himself to deliver the plate of food to Rolana at the other side of the office. Fae began to think about Elijah's words as she nibbled off the edge of the soft, warm flatbread. It was savory, with just an edge of sweetness, but surprisingly fluffy on the inside for how flat it was. Then her hunger distracted her completely from the talk of war and country, and she devoured the rest of the bread before Elijah returned.

They were in the middle of eating and a conversation about Elijah's fencing tournament when Zeke's door opened and the two interlocutors within stepped out. Fae stood up in response, hands down on the table, giving extra emphasis to her movement.

"Well?" She started, but then she noticed their grave, unhappy expressions, and her heart sank. She looked helplessly from one to the other.

"I will be calling Lionel's guardian in the morning so that he can go back home," Zeke said. "We will figure out all the arrangements then. Tonight he will be staying with us, so be sure that he has everything he needs, would you, Elijah? You two will be sleeping in the living room, since Fae has permanently moved into the guest bedroom."

"But Zeke!" Fae started, but he raised a palm and stopped her.

"No, Fae. You are very kind to want so much to help others, but I've determined that this is for the best. I imagine there are people who care very much for Lionel's safety and are worried about him right now."

"But you didn't see what the woman coming after him did to him, Zeke," Elijah interjected, also rising. He indicated the inflamed spot on Lionel's forehead that was still shining with the vulnerary smeared over it. "Even if we haven't proved his story to be true, she was so unnecessarily violent towards him. Don't you think we ought to find out more about this cult before we do anything drastic?"

"I don't know what woman you're talking about. Lionel's guardian is the governor of Pherae."

The news was as shocking to Elijah as it was to Fae. Horror came upon Fae, whereas the redhead Pheraen himself was stunned.

"Governor Farey? Really?" Eyes searched the Etruscan for the truth, but the boy kept his hands in his pocket and looked away. He was clearly frustrated with his own helplessness.

"Yes. It's true."

"So that's that," Ezekiel said. "I would think that a man so favorably elected to govern a whole county would be fully capable of taking care of someone he had the altruism to take in. He is under so much political and media scrutiny that surely cruelty against youth is not something that would go unnoticed. I plan on contacting the man personally, since conveniently enough he is in Ostia at the moment."

"But he..." Fae faltered with her words, trying to put it as elegantly and convincingly as possible. Zeke sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"Please, just trust me. I'm not going to completely disregard what you are all telling me. I will make the proper arrangements and do all the research necessary to ensure the best. Now, if we could drop the subject, I'm sure Lionel's hungry, and I myself wouldn't mind dinner either."

Fae recognized a closed discussion when she saw one. But despite Zeke's apparent resolve, she recognize something different in him-a shaken countenance, perhaps? She stopped paying attention to Lionel and observed her guardian carefully, this stranger who was now responsible for her... She had known from the first moment she met him that he was harboring secrets.

But as they all sat in silence around the table to dinner, she wondered how much these secrets would affect each one of them.

She did not need Sophia's ability of portents to know that they would.

- o -


	10. IX The Flight

**Age of Pretense**

Fire Emblem: The Sword of Seals and the Blazing Sword

by eolianstar

_Elaine,_

_This is the sequence extracted from the DNA of a fossil discovered in Bern. They do not know that I've sent this to you, so keep it hidden, do not speak of it, show it to no one. I am afraid if I do not make this known now somehow, I will not have the opportunity to do so in the future. When the time comes, use this evidence, but be sure that you have friends that can protect you. I'm sorry to involve you, Elaine. But I have no one else to turn to. _

**IX. The Flight**

If Dr. Hart had been irritated by Ezekiel Lyman earlier, she was livid now.

She had been able to schedule in a time to stop by her laboratory that night to fulfill his request. Her assistants already did the necessary DNA extractions and sequencing work for her, and as expected, the file with Fae Arcadia's genetic code was waiting for her on her computer desktop. As she clicked on it and scrolled through the letters for an initial screening, she halted, frowned, scrolled all the way back up to the top of the code, and observed it more closely.

"What..."

It did not make sense. Was this the correct file? She minimized the sequencing software and searched the desktop in case there had been a mistake. The technician that did the prep work for the blood samples was quite meticulous and would not normally make an error like this. But if he had looked at the code, he surely would have noticed something odd about it too...

She spent the next thirty minutes making phone calls and running preliminary scripts. But nothing she did was any more elucidating. Upon checking the time and realizing she was behind schedule, her already increasing frustration bubbled over into complete anger. Shutting down the machine, she snatched up her coat and the pile of mail on her desk, allowing the angry clacking of her heels to accentuate her sudden exit.

The doctor had been so heated that she did not notice that the large yellow envelope in the pile she held was postmarked from Bern, the contents of which would have certainly given her more insight into this strange and infuriating ordeal.

- o -

Since Elijah knew the way back to the apartment, the three teenagers left the office ahead of Zeke, who said he still had business to which he had to attend. The walk back was painfully quiet, both Fae and Lionel harboring unhappy moods as Elijah maintained a neutral pensiveness.

When they returned, Fae fled to her room. Perhaps it was rude, but she refused to come out for hours, not even to wish the boys a good night. She wasn't sure why she felt so upset. She wasn't quite angry at Zeke and his resolve, and she owed Lionel nothing. Perhaps it was his story that had finally settled in her mind, and the longer she dwelled upon it, the more troubled she was.

She lay curled into a ball in her blankets, hugging her dragonstone to her chest as she tried not to think too much about all that had happened that night. All she wanted to was to fall asleep so that she would stop having to worry. And yet her mind reworked Lionel's words, and then Elijah's words, and then Ezekiel's dark expression...

_Time is such a strange thing_, Fae thought as she pulled the blanket more tightly about her. It was inconceivable that she had only known Zeke for a few days, and even Elijah and Rolana only since that morning. Since then the emotions were so contrary; she had wanted very much for them to like her, she had doubted their intentions, or she herself had felt ambivalent in her feelings towards them. She missed the days when making friends was as simple as merely enjoying the company of another person, regardless of age or race, without any suspicions or fears. _What is wrong with me?_

Perhaps it was better to just forget, to trust the Zeke knew what was right. Lionel would be gone the following day, and she could carry on as planned, attend school like any human girl of her likeness, make friends, assimilate into society...

When a few hours had passed and her overworked brain finally allowed her sleep, she dreamed of a home among the sand dunes and gently swaying palms. If she had been to think back on it later, she might have thought it a cruel dream: but inside it, she welcomed the diversion, the warmth, the sun and the laughter.

- o -

Zeke made one phone call before pulling on his coat and sweeping out of the office for the night. This left Rolana alone with her paper, and as the professor closed the door behind him, she put down her pen and leaned back in her chair, looking over her shoulder at the empty room.

When she was sure that he had gone, she locked the door and stepped into his personal office, reaching for the receiver of the telephone. Rolana had not been able to hear his side of the conversation (as he had closed the door during the call) but she was positive about who he had contacted.

She punched the redial key and sat down on edge of the desk. As the phone dialed the number, Rolana pulled out a small, square shaped device, pushed up the switch on the side, and set it down. As she did so, her eye fell upon the single picture frame on her mentor's desk. The young man within had dark blue hair and was in the cap and gown of a graduating college student. His arm was around a pretty girl with long red hair, and both of them looked so happy, though the photograph was faded badly from the many days it had been exposed to the sunlight from the office window.

_Wait..._

She had seen this picture many times before, and never had bothered to ask who they were. But with a jolt, she picked up the frame and realized why she was having such an uncanny sensation of deja vu.

_Could they be... Elijah's parents?_ She involuntarily glanced back into the main office room, where her bag with Elijah's gift was still on the table. Then, drawing her attention back to the old photo, she flipped over the frame and saw in the corner a little bit of writing that she immediately recognized as Zeke's hand.

_Louis & Margot '95_

The line in the phone finally connected, and Nick Osman's voice came through the speaker. Apparently he had expected her to call.

"Rolana."

"Yes. I have a wiretap jammer on." She put down the picture frame and refocused her mind on the task at hand.

"Good. As you probably know, I just spoke to Zeke. He asked me about a religious organization and its possible connection to governor Farey. I advised him to leave it alone and allow me to investigate it further." The man's voice was level, hushed, but was a voice that was used to being in a place of authority. Despite this, however, Rolana was not about to let her annoyance go unnoticed.

"Did you know about all this? Is what the boy said about this cult true?"

"Lionel Ivaldi?"

"So you did know!" Rolana threw up a hand, fingers curled in a slightly menacing pose. "Why didn't you tell me? It's one thing that you neglect to tell me of Zeke's plans to go Pherae-but this... shouldn't I know about this? What else are you keeping from me?"

"Rolana," the voice said, very firm and absolute. "You may treat Zeke like this, but don't forget that you are my subordinate. You are not entitled to know everything, you are just to report on what you know. We did not expect this turn of events. Now listen carefully, these are your orders. Even though I advised Zeke to make no drastic moves, I know him well enough to know that he'll do whatever he deems right regardless of other counsel. But as much as it is in your power, do not let Lionel Ivaldi out of your sight."

"Sure," the woman responded, twisting her lime green hair around a finger, her voice still irreverently sarcastic. "I'll just lurk around Zeke's apartment tonight like a creeper to watch a young teenaged boy. Maybe I should have taken Zeke up on his marriage proposal earlier today. It might have actually made things easier."

The man on the other end provided a pause, as if to prompt Rolana towards reflecting upon his rebuke earlier. Instead, it gave her the opportunity to think about her academic mentor and this situation he was in. She wondered if they also knew more about Fae than they were letting on... no, they must have. She must be involved in all of this as well.

_Zeke_, she thought, biting her lower lip with both concern and disapproval, _Do you know what you're getting yourself into? You..._

She closed her eyes, annoyed with her own conflicting emotions.

"Just do what you have to do to follow your orders," was the reply before the man hung up, leaving her alone in the dark with the electronic tone ringing in her ear.

- o -

Fae awoke sometime during the night. Rolling over to check the time on the digital clock, she groggily recalled having a dream, but was unable to remember what it was about. Rather, the thoughts she had originally tried to escape with sleep crept back into the forefront of her mind. The dragonstone still in her hand reminded her that it was no longer her secret, and unbidden, all the events of earlier that evening flooded in.

Instead of rolling back into her previous position to sleep and escape again, she sat up. She was still wearing what she had been wearing all day, including her coat, so she felt as stiff and crumpled as the clothes she had slept in. Slipping off of the bed, she reached out a hand to touch the knob of the door leading into the hall.

Then, thinking better of it, Fae sighed and turned back around, choosing to approach and open the window instead. It was late, hours into the night. Even if she wanted to talk, everybody was probably sleeping.

The wind that surged in was remarkably strong and bitter. Fae almost closed the window and crawled back into bed to pity herself and her misfortune. Instead, she clenched her teeth, and drawing warmth from her dragonstone, put one foot on the windowsill and hoisted herself out into the freezing night.

Somehow, the cold made the air clearer, though it was much windier now than the previous night. It was surprisingly invigorating as well as painful, and awoke Fae to all her previously sleep-addled senses. The outlines of the city glowed with pale gold lines, crisp against the cloudless, deep blue sky. Sliding the window back down so that it was only open at just a crack, she ascended the fire escape, eager for the height and the fresh air to clear her mind.

So it was with mixed emotions of alarm, disappointment and excitement to find that someone else had already claimed her sanctuary. Her heart almost failed her again, because her feet were ready to fly back down the staircase and jump into the safety of her covers.

It was possible for her to do so without repercussions, as he was in a posture of prayer and had not seemed to notice her. Yet she was afraid that even with his eyes closed he knew that she was there and who she was. Quickly stuffing her dragonstone in her coat pocket, his knowledge of which being the reason for her paranoia, she glanced anxiously back at the yellow hair blowing in the wind across his face. Although she was half-expecting it, she still jumped when she realized his bright blue eyes were looking straight back at her.

"H-hello," she said a little pathetically. His hands had been folded in front of him, but he separated them now to brush the hair away from his eyes.

"So you came," Lionel said, without any surprise. She wished he had not said that, because she was starting to think he did have some sort of sixth sense. Oh! But he had said that it was his sister who had seen her in a dream, not him. So perhaps she need not be so...

Yes! Why should she be afraid, regardless? Even as she noticed the light tome lying beside him, she gathered her courage by reminding herself who she was.

"I'm not afraid of you," she said aloud, perhaps childishly. To her surprise, he smiled. It was a tired, weak sort of a smile, like a shadow of the real thing. But was that the first time he smiled yet? She could still not get over how pretty he was... She puckered her lips in a slight pout. It was almost unfair.

When he said nothing, she plucked up the courage to sit beside him, facing the city. "Where's Elijah?" she asked him.

"Sleeping. He passed out effortlessly. He looked pretty tired. I am too. But I can't sleep."

"Oh."

After they fell into another silence, Fae realized she had run out of things to say. Even for the many questions she had wanted to ask him earlier, she could not recall a single one now. But the hope that she buried deep inside of her, the one that she both feared and desperately wished was true, was that he knew who she was.

Perhaps that was why he was looking for her. It made sense, if it were true. And yet...

As she put her hand down, it brushed against the tome. She looked down at it, and ran her fingertips against the golden spine. "May I?"

He looked down to see what she was referring to, and nodded his permission.

She opened the cover more gingerly than Zeke had, her eyes falling upon the lines of text she had not seen in so long. Fae herself was unable to read it, but she knew that the language touched upon something closer to her own native tongue than modern Elibean. Though she was no caster, she could tell that the book was advanced.

"How do you know how to use this? Are there other magic users like you in the Way?"

He looked taken aback by her question, and she wondered if she had inadvertently given herself away somehow. Oh! What a frustrating situation! She was growing tired of all the uncertainty, trying to figure out how much he knew, wondering how much of her own knowledge she could give away...

"No, my sister and I are the only ones- that I know of, at least. The Way has access to a lot of old tomes and staves, but they're all for show. None of them have real power. We had the natural gift for them... but light and healing magic is based mostly upon faith and prayer, so it was only a natural extension of who we are. So then, you... is it true?"

Fae held her breath, feeling the chill both physically and internally.

"About what?" Her voice was lowered to barely a whisper. Maybe she had only mouthed it, even.

"That are you are one of the ancient ones. That you are..."

He hesitated before the word. They met each other's gaze. Her eyes were green and startlingly inhuman against the starlit backdrop. His were at first almost too ashamed to meet hers, but upon doing so, they widened. That single instance, that single glance, seemed to answer his question.

He made a jerky movement as if to move away from her, to put more distance between them as he realized what she was.

This time, she was the one who smiled sadly.

"Are you afraid?" she asked softly, and set down the book, clutching the stone in her pocket with her freed hand. There was clearly something like fear in Lionel's face, as if he had all along known the truth, but had only now allowed its full implications to dawn on him.

"I've been afraid for three years," the Etrurian replied, pale. "I am always afraid now. But you are the only one I can turn to. You know about my magic. You have the power I need to save my sister."

"I don't know if I can save anyone. Nobody believes that I exist," Fae replied, tasting the bitterness of her own words. Lionel, still white, stood up. They had been sitting at a safe distance away from the edge of the building, but now he approached the precipice without hesitation, trembling with the cold and something else. His eyes were not cast ahead towards the visage of the Ostian buildings, but rather below, towards the immediate streets and rooftops around them.

"I'm terrified of heights," he said, seemingly off-topic. "My younger sister died because she fell from a tower, and I almost fell and died too. Since then I've had an almost pathological fear of falling." He stepped so close to the very edge that Fae wondered how what he said could possibly be true. In fact, she thought that he was actually going to step off. With a cry she jumped to her feet and almost snatched at his hand, but he stopped with the toe of his shoe abutting the border between brick and air. The light from the streetlamps below cast a glow below him, brightening his chin and nose while leaving his eyes in shadow.

"So sometimes I stand in high places and look out into the space, sometimes wondering how long she fell, or wondering how long I would have fallen. It scares me. So I stop thinking about those things. Instead, I make myself believe that I'm standing on level ground, that walking on the edge of this building is no different from standing on the sidewalk of an empty street. The fear then becomes something different. It becomes controlled, dormant, buried deep within me. In my mind, I force it to no longer exist."

"What are you trying to say?" Fae asked, frowning slightly, her hand still teetering outward in case he decided to act upon any suicidal impulses.

"That is the age of pretense we live in," Lionel said, reaching out a hand to touch the air in front of him, as if trying to grasp at the light coming from the street. "All the world says that magic and dragons are nothing but myth and fairy tale. Education, emotion and experience form our beliefs; all those well-informed and rationally minded must submit to those authorities. And yet here I am, and here you are. How do we live in a time that has cruelly forgotten us? How do we live in a world where our individual truths create the spaces around us, leaving us untouched, safe and unmoved? Will you be resigned to that? Will I?"

He closed his eyes, his hand still outstretched. The wind blasted over them, passing through hair and clothes, through the space between them.

Fae grabbed Lionel's arm at the crook of his elbow, pulling him away from the street, back to safety.

"Let's go," she said, hardened with conviction. He merely looked at her, his lips darkly tinged from prolonged exposure to the cold. She looked away, bent down to pick up his light tome and held it out to him.

"Let's go," she said again as he took it wordlessly from her. Then, she wet her own dry lips and made up her mind. "Yes. I will go with you."

- o -

When Fae and Lionel tried to discreetly leave the apartment, the light flicked on suddenly and they both jumped, Fae striking her hand hard against the door handle. She winced and shook her throbbing fingers, turning to see Elijah standing by the lightswitch in the hall, his hair messier than usual, sporting his glasses.

"I thought this might happen," he said, his expression strangely calm. "You're running off, aren't you."

"Elijah," Fae began, as the Pheraen leaned against the wall, arms crossed. In the background, Hector lay on the windowsill, his tail swaying down in the shape reminiscent of a question mark. The girl's face was contorted in distress, but she placed a hand gently on the handle, applying a little pressure down on it. "I'm sorry. But I have to go."

She was bracing herself to welcome Elijah's displeasure. Afterall, Ezekiel and all of his companions had been nothing but kind to her, providing all of her needs and even opening their hearts to her. She knew she deserved the judgement for what she was about to do. But it was true. She couldn't possibly stay, not now that she knew.

Lionel was silent and frowning, his finger tense against the binding of the tome as if he was anticipating a messy escape. So it was to their great surprise when Elijah bent down and picked up the bag at his feet. She had not even noticed it was there.

"I left Zeke a note not to worry about us. He trusts me, so I think he would be at ease if he knew I was with you. Well, more at ease, at least."

The guilty pair stared, their mouths slightly agape as Elijah passed them and unlocked the door.

"What?" Fae breathed, blinking.

"I'm coming too," replied Elijah.

A pause.

"Do you even know where we're going? Or what we'll be doing?" Lionel asked, amazed by the Pheraen's unexpected assertion.

"Doesn't matter. I've been thinking about it and made up my mind. I can be pretty stubborn. I suppose that's the Ostian side of me." Fae drew off to one side as Elijah opened the door, allowing the additional light from the hallway to flood in. "If we need to take the train, I've borrowed Zeke's travel membership card, so we can get discounts on tickets."

The two were frozen in the entryway as Elijah stepped out and peered at them a little impatiently. "Well?"

Fae merely smiled, too pleased to hide her feelings on the matter. "But what about your tournament? What about school?"

He shrugged.

"Wow," Lionel remarked, and halted with the next words on the tip of his tongue. It was as if both runaways felt obligated to protest. After all, it was quite imposing on Elijah's part, and he did not know the secrets they harbored or the whole nature of their journey. The impulsiveness surprised Fae. She had not thought Elijah the type of person to make such a prominent decision like this when he was so uninformed. And yet, something about his astuteness, his resilience and preparation put her at ease. Glancing quickly at Lionel, she realized he felt the same way. Perhaps another such companion would be nice.

_All of this... this whole night has already been pretty crazy. So why not?_

At this moment, she could not help but remember Roy and his unshakeable faith. Maybe... just maybe his heir would believe in her too.

The red-headed boy grinned. And so it was settled.

- o -

When Ezekiel returned to his office after his errand, a folder and a couple of books clutched in his hand, he had expected Rolana to still be there. He was only mildly surprised when he arrived and her desk was vacant, all the lights turned off.

He started up his personal computer, and while it loaded the desktop he organized the books and scanned through the contents of the folder. A few minutes in, his computer ringed to alert him of a new email.

Elaine Hart. Amused, he read through the very laconic message that politely demanded him to schedule a meeting with her. First thing in the morning, he decided, and padded his response with cordialities and other meaningless verbiage. Just as he was about to click the send button, the office door swung open and Rolana burst in.

"They're gone," she said, her cheeks and nose flushed with the cold.

"What?" Zeke asked blankly, clicking the button.

"The kids," she responded impatiently. "They're not at your apartment. Look."

She produced a small square of paper with writing on it. Zeke frowned at it and took it, reading the message Elijah had apparently written on it.

_Zeke,_

_ We've gone to help Lionel's sister. Don't worry, I'm used to traveling by myself, so Fae and Lionel will be fine too. I don't know how long we'll be gone, but I'll keep you updated. Sorry for any inconvenience this causes._

_-Elijah_

_Ps. I took your International Overground Membership Card, in case you look for it. Thanks!_

The professor stared at the note for a good few minutes.

"What were you doing at my apartment?" he asked at last, and Rolana was taken off guard. She must have expected him to be as worked up about the turn of events as she was.

"Please," she said quickly, her mind clearly working hard to arrive at an acceptable response. "I'm not as obsessed with you as you think I am. I was just worried about them and wanted to stop by. But Zeke! What are you going to do about this? You can't just let them run off!"

"No," he agreed. He was grateful for his ability to remain calm in most situations. But this was most troublesome. He would have set off immediately after them if not for the email he had just composed and sent. He had to keep his appointment with Elaine Hart. His nagging suspicion would not be put to rest unless he was certain. And, the meeting could determine how crucial it would be to recover Fae and bring her back.

He grimaced at his own thoughts. Despite her possibly enormous importance, she was still a person. No matter what, it would be a priority to bring her back safely. He had to remember that nobody was the means to an end.

"Well? Should we call the police?"

Rolana's question brought him back. He adjusted his glasses and set down the note.

"No. I will go after them personally tomorrow. Getting the police involved would not be ideal, especially considering Lionel's situation. For now, let's trust Elijah. Have you tried calling him?"

"Of course I have," she replied stiffly, seemingly unhappy with his response. "He doesn't pick up."

"Well, I don't think that would stop you from being able to track his whereabouts, does it?" The insinuation was present enough to make Rolana stop in her tracks, but subtle enough to make her wonder. This was the game Ezekiel had chosen. Everybody was a player.

"What are you talking about?"

He smiled, and waved a hand carelessly.

"Never mind. I'm a little tired. Anyways, like I said, I'll try to find them tomorrow. It's late now, so they can't get too far tonight as it is. Despite this little stunt, my relative is a responsible, capable young man, and so I don't think we have cause to worry about their safety tonight."

"I'll go with you," Rolana said, her tone suggesting that there was no room for discussion on the matter. Zeke inclined his head in submission.

"Seeing as by then you'll have submitted your paper, I don't have any reason to object. Now, if you would excuse me, I have one more email to write before I go to bed."

She left him, a new, foreign tension still hanging in the air after she closed the door.

Ezekiel ran a hand through his hair, breathing out slowly. Then, his eyes wandered specifically to the single picture frame on his desk where Louis and Margot smiled back at him.

It was still painful. Time had dulled the pain, but the ache was still overwhelming when he allowed himself the vulnerability to remember them. Now, everything was in place. There were no more chances left for him to question himself or his decisions..

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and wrote his second email. It was only a little shorter than the first, but took him almost half an hour to write, each sentence agonizingly constructed as he read and reread his words over and over again.

_Dear Margaret,_

_It has been a while. I sincerely hope you have been doing well. I very much wish I could write you with better news. _

_Elijah has run off on his own and is no longer within the limits of my supervision. I will do everything it takes to ensure he returns safely to you in Pherae soon._

_Sincerely,_

_Zeke_

- o -

A/N:

Why is everyone so emo...

Eh... anyways! A few notes!

Firstly, sorryy this is so late. Things have been crazy and I find the only time I have to write is at 1AM after a full day. Usually it would be fine if I wasn't exhausted... there were many times when I opened up this chapter to work on it, read what I had written the night before and then died a little inside.

I'm going to try to establish a rhythm again, but I'm going abroad this coming week... so there'll be a short hiatus. I've already kinda thrown myself out of the loop of updating biweekly, so I guess it's nothing unusual now. At the very latest, I want to get the next chapter up by the end of March.

Secondly, just an editorial note. After some thought I decided to settle on _Etrurian _rather than _Etruscan_. Originally I had wanted to go with the latter, since it is the real-world demonym for our real world Etruria, but it was not coming naturally (and a couple of you mentioned some inconsistencies!) so I decided to nix it. I'll edit the previous chapters when I'm not lazy.

Lastly, (I know, I've never had so many author's notes in a chapter before...) I'm going to try to update my livejournal more frequently with bonus material for this story, whether it be pictures of characters or junkfic. If you have more than a passing interest in this story, feel free to take a look! The link is on my FFN profile.

Ok! That's all. Thanks for reading! Until next time :)


	11. X The Journey South

**Age of Pretense**

Fire Emblem: The Sword of Seals and the Blazing Sword

by eolianstar

FROM: "Ezekiel Lyman" - lymanec

TO: "Elijah Rolan" - elirolan

SUBJECT: Re: Seeking Resources for Ostian Internship

Hi Elijah,

I think you were being modest about your relation to me; you are Louis' son, yes? I'm not sure if your mother told you, but your father was my first cousin—that makes the two of us blood relatives.

Even so, I would like to speak with you in person and get a better idea of your interests before I recommend anything to you, or recommend you to anyone. We can set up a phone interview, or if you happen to be coming to Ostia anytime in the next few months, we can arrange to meet in person.

I am looking forward to meeting you.

-Zeke

_On 27 Elthunder, Elijah Rolan [elirolan ] wrote:_

– _Dear Dr. Lyman,_

–

– _My name is Elijah Rolan and I am currently a second year High _

– _School Student from Pherae. I received your contact information _

– _from my mother, who told me that she was your colleague at the _

– _University. _

–

– _I don't wish to impose anything because of my meager connection_

– _to you, but I am very interested in seeking a government internship _

– _in Ostia this summer and was hoping that you could perhaps for-_

– _ward me any information or contacts. To be honest I don't have any_

– _connections and am at somewhat of a loss as to where to begin._

–

– _Thank you for taking the time to read this. I hope to hear from you _

– _soon._

–

– _Sincerely,_

– _Elijah Rolan_

**X. The Journey South**

It was too bad, Randie thought, trying to be as sympathetic as she could. Though it was often difficult for her to discern her companion's very mild expressions, she knew him well enough now to know that he was quite unhappy with the situation. It was just like how she knew that he was happy when he was reading, or when they talked late into the night about the people or cultures they'd seen that day. Well, in truth, she often did most of the talking. But she knew it was a topic he listened to intently and loved to think about.

"You notice everything, huh?" she asked him once when he pointed out a strangely patterned bandana tied on a farmer's arm. Apparently they were the colors of a grassroots Lycian political movement. "Moreover, you know everything. Are you sure this is the first time you're leaving Sacae?"

But for all his reticence, he was so easy to talk to. Something about his presence was calm and comforting. Randie never felt like she talked too much, and she did talk a lot. Hell, now that she'd deserted the Grace, she felt the freedom to talk about all those things they did in secret-the people she had watched die, the deals they dealt. He took everything in. Even when Johann was brash and outright rude, Sheno bore it all with amazing tolerance, and even acceptance, in his quiet, Sacaen way.

Sometimes, if she were lucky, he would share with her what life on the plains was like, and the stories. It seemed in Sacaen culture, everything was a story-life most of all. Perhaps that was why Sheno loved history and traveling so much. For him, all things had an origin, a reason, a destination. Although she found it hard to believe that everything had a design, she could see how it made things more... alive. She liked the idea, at least in theory.

Perhaps there was a purpose to their vehicle's sudden break-down. It started to have a sickish, cough-like sound that alarmed Sheno. When the smoke began to trickle out from between the seams of the motorcycle's exoskeleton, they promptly stopped and drew off to the side of the road.

It hardly helped that Johann was being unbearably bratty about the setback. He complained loudly and kicked at the ground. She had threatened to leave him behind multiple times, but secretly she was glad he was with her. For all his immaturity and outward selfishness, she knew that he was a good kid, and she felt better that he was with her. Nobody else would keep an eye out for him.

Even so, sometimes she couldn't help but give him a good smack in the head for his bad attitude.

She did her best to silence his complaints as Sheno tended to the steaming motorcycle. Teru wagged his tail violently enough to cause a small dust storm on the path, whining as if to show that he too, was sorry. It was not so much that their mode of transportation was now out of commission. The motorcycle seemed to hold deeper value for its owner, as old and beat up as it was.

It seemed pretty obvious that it was a lost cause. She could see that much. But maybe...

"Hey... I'll try to go find some water," Randie said, retrieving her metal bottle. Perhaps there was a stream closeby, and they could try to cool the engine. Sheno nodded his assent, and spoke to Teru in their language, seemingly ordering the dog to accompany her. Randie ordered Johann in turn, to be good and stay quiet while they were gone. The boy scowled and sat with his legs and arms crossed. But she wasn't worried. They had been traveling only a couple weeks in the company of the Sacaens, but Johann had learned something of respect for the quiet strength Sheno provided them.

The road had been bordered by woods for almost a mile now. Teru seemed to be the one leading, sniffing at the air, moving close to the brush. Smart dog, she thought with a smile. Perhaps Sheno had instructed him to find a water source. She placed a hand on the dog's back, feeling the coarseness of his fur against her callused hand.

They entered the wood a few more yards down, Teru confidently striding through the foliage. It was quite cold, now being well into the cycle of Fimbulvetr, a sensation that Randie very much relished. It was not as cold as perhaps New Ed would have been, but her Ilian sensibilities were satisfied with the unmelted frost that still powdered the leaves and earth.

Hm. Maybe it would be the closest thing to home for a while. Oh well. She shrugged away the thought, gripping Teru's back more tightly. Better enjoy it while it lasts.

The dog barked and hurried on ahead when she heard the faint sound of running water. Lightly jogging to keep up with her canine companion, she was careful not to slip as she darted down the slope. Sure enough, a small stream cascaded down a clearing between the trees, the water shallow against the pebbled floor. It was delightfully refreshing; she splashed her face with it and rinsed the grease off of her hands as Teru drank from it. A few moments later, the dog lifted his head sharply, ears standing straight up, swiveling slightly.

Randie brushed her hair back as she glanced up, noting the dog's behavior and straining her own senses to determine what had caught his attention. Then she heard it too- soft against the backdrop of white noise and forest wildlife.

A violin?

She stood up and brushed the water from the ends of her damp hair.

"Come on, boy," she goaded Teru while padding him heartily. "Let's go find out what that is."

With a full bottle in one hand, her other replaced on the dog's back, she crept through the trees. The tune was fluttery and uplifting as it wafted through the wood. It reminded her of the Cayan street performers of New Ed, with the speed and frenzy that was much more impassioned than the refined classical musicians her sister liked to spin on the phonographs at home. After a little while, she picked up on the tune and whistled along it, leaving out the complicated trills that she was unable to emulate.

Hah! Her instincts served her well. Up ahead she could see a row of Cayan caravans, some traditional, as pulled by a horse, while others were driven by motor. But the fiddling came from outside one of the traditionally decorated cars, where a young man with thick greenish hair was playing feverishly. She could see the sweat glistening on the crest of his cheekbones and his prominent smile. Her eye also caught the glistening of gold, though whether it was from a tooth or an earring, he was moving too much for her to tell.

But he was only a momentary subject of her attention. The girl was much prettier, much flashier, though absolutely silent. She moved with mesmerizing rhythm, the back of her hand arched perfectly, with only the turning of her hair to complement the fluidity of her grace. It was not a sultry or suggestive dance, which Randie approved of considering the dancer's young age, but it was so... attractive, somehow. Oh, how she spun and spun like a small and fragile music box figurine. Each turn was slow and deliberate to sharply contrast the rapid tempo of her accompanist's playing.

When the fiddler drew one last pair of notes out with his bow, the girl too, sank deeply to the ground, almost bent over in half. Her flexibility was unearthly.

Randie broke into a clap, unafraid to make herself known. The girl jumped to her feet at the foreign sound, and like a startled rabbit bounded behind the man, hiding her face in his back. He, in turn, lowered his instrument and with interest, looked over at the Ilian woman and the dog.

"Ah! Look Rio-girl! We have an audience!"

He bowed theatrically.

"I'm sorry," she called out in common Elibean, "I didn't want to scare you. It was just so lovely I couldn't help myself."

He replied in heavily-accented Ilian, apparently noticing her ethnicity and accommodating to her likely linguistic preference. She had never met a Cayan who spoke only one language.

"Our pleasure."

She took a few steps forward to place them within reasonable speaking distance. The dancing girl kept herself squarely behind her older companion, her face perfectly hidden.

"Come, Rio-girl!" the violinist encouraged, twisting slightly to expose her. She shifted away in response. He laughed a rich, deep laugh. "Don't be too shy!" She remained unmoving.

"My name's Randie," the Ilian offered cheerily. She found the girl's timidity adorable.

"This be Riono," the fiddler returned after a few seconds when there was no response. "And I am Kamilo Haeja. Welcome to our camp, the caravan of Gen Haeja."

"Relation?" Randie asked, raising an eyebrow. She did not fail to notice the pride gleaming in his eye as he grinned a perfect set of bright teeth. It was especially bright against his dark skin.

Aha. So the gold had been from his earring.

"My illustrious father. And what is your business, fair traveler?" Teru padded to them gingerly, sniffing at Kamilo and Riono, particularly investigating the girl. She peeked out only just the slightest bit, her gaze fixed on the dog.

"My friends and I are traveling to Lycia," Randie said, crouching down to pet Teru's favorite spot, on top of his head. He sat on his haunches and beat the ground with his tail, still watching and sniffing at the dancer. Riono hurriedly hid her face. "But it seems like our mode of transportation is dying out on us. I went to find some water, and heard your playing and had to check it out."

"Understandable. Can we be of any assistance?"

Randie smiled. What a world... it seemed as if there was always nice people around to help when it was needed. She most definitely hadn't expected this when she escaped the Grace.

"Depends. You any good with motorcycles?"

- o -

Johann had been, in fact, incredibly civil and even helpful while Amaranthe was gone. He had even offered to help Sheno with the motorcycle, holding it still as the Sacaen attempted to determine the problem.

Both of their hands black from the tips of their fingers to the root of their palms. If not for anything else, at least if Amaranthe were to find water, they could wash off. The longer he probed around the machinery, the more he was convinced that that was probably the best they could do.

"What'll we do if we can't fix it?" Johann asked, his nose twisted. His longish hair was unruly and kept falling straight down his face, between the eyes. He seldom ever swept it away, and Sheno wondered sometimes how it failed to bother him. He liked the color admittedly, and how sometimes when everything else about the landscape and sky was dull with winter, Johann's head was still bright and drew the eye.

"We may have to walk until we reach a city," Sheno replied simply, expecting Johann to immediately express his disapprobation. The boy surprised him with a pensive silence instead. And then:

"Is that how you people travel? Or do you still use horses?"

The question surprised him still. Although it was a little misguided, the Sacaen had not expected that Johann was curious about his people. He always seemed to fall asleep during the late-night talks with Amaranthe about the tribes, the stories.

Wiping his forehead with the back of his forearm, Sheno fully directed his attention towards the young Ilian.

"Horses, mostly yes. As we have for thousands of years."

"Then why a motorcycle? Don't you have a horse too?"

Yes, he did, but before his journey, Sheno had given him away. Actually, the question Johann had asked was valid; not because of the boy's curiosity, but because many of his tribesmen had wondered the same thing. Why trade such a magnificent beast, so majestic and intelligent, for an old, thoughtless machine?

"This was my father's," Sheno replied, answering both Johann's question and the ones unspoken by his compatriots. Yes, there was that reason. But also.. and he felt guilty for the sense of shame he felt when thinking this... he could not travel the modern Elibe the way his forefathers had. Perhaps his father had understood this as well.

"'He dead?" Sheno retreated from his thoughts, and glanced at Johann questioningly. "Your old man."

He shrugged, and ran a hand along the cracked leather seat. "I don't know."

_He's dead_, Mother had always assured him, with no sadness in her voice. _Let him go_.

She was probably right. And yet...

He stood upright, finally lifting his touch away from the motorcycle. Perhaps it was meant to be. Stubbornness was an admirable trait only up until it reached a certain threshold. _Let it go..._

"Huh," Johann huffed, and wiped his hands on his trousers. "At least he left you something. I didn't get nothing from mine."

Here, the conversation was taking another unexpected turn.

"And is he alive?"

The boy crossed his arms and looked away.

"Like hell I know. I don't even know who he is, and I don't give a damn. Randie's been more like my parent than either of my real ones anyway. That Bernese saying about blood being thicker than water's a load of shit."

Sheno could sense the resentment, even without the acidic nature of Johann's cursing. But he could not pity him. Even if he was little more than a child, respect was due, and Sacaens saw pity as the worst sort of insult.

Suddenly, there was a streak of white bounding out from the trees a few feet from where they stood. Sheno stepped back and just managed to see a doe flying out of the wood, across the path and down the field. Startled, Johann swore and accidentally collided into the motorcycle, causing it to fall over on its side.

They both heard the unmistakable sound of glass breaking. By the time they caught each other's glance, the deer was already far off, and disappeared behind the line of trees across the field. Sheno vacantly wondered what had startled her that she would dare cross the path of two humans.

"The hell..." Johann said, referring the sound of shattering glass. Together, they lifted the motorcycle to investigate.

It was Amaranthe's bag. She had left it on the opposite side of the motorcycle when she went off to find water. A glass container inside must have broken upon impact, as a dark stain was bleeding through the side of the bag. Johann placed both hands on his head in consternation.

"Fucking shit! She's going to kill me..."

Sheno replaced the kickstand, making sure the bike was stable. "Let's try to clean up."

A few minutes later, they had managed to extract most of the glass and the viscous bluish fluid. It smelled bitter and medicinal, but clung tightly to the cloth. He wanted to avoid touching Amaranthe's personal items as much as possible, but at the same time it didn't feel right to let everything get soiled on his watch. He asked Johann to fetch a towel and spread a blanket, and together they set the contents of the bag out on top.

When he took out the Sacaen bow, he was even more amazed to see it then than he was the first time he happened to see it. Truly it was Sacaen. He saw the figures of Mother Earth and Father Sky on either end of the bow, separated by the expanse of the wooden handle between them. The wood was cool to the touch, and the bow was not only perfectly balanced, but impossibly light.

Strange. He felt a current against his fingers, as if the wind were brushing itself against him, but the air was absolutely still around them.

"What's that?" Johann asked, his voice sounding oddly muffled as he pressed in closer to take a look. At that moment, a couple of figures descended from the forest, coming towards them with Teru in tow. Sheno managed to break away from the sight of the bow to look. It was Amaranthe with a lanky dark-skinned, dark-haired man.

Upon first glance, Sheno thought he was Sacaen, and he felt a pang of what was undeniably excitement. The stranger seemed to notice Sheno in particular as well, but when he saw the bow in his hands, he gave a cry of alarm and delight.

"What an exquisite bow! May I take a look, good sir?"

Sheno stood, and looking at Amaranthe first, inclined his head. "My apologies. We broke one of the jars in your bag."

She made a jerky motion, as if her first impulse was to take the bow from him, but she managed to control herself. Her expression was more troubled than annoyed or upset.

"No, thank you for trying to save my things," she replied a little hesitantly, quickly smoothing her motion by looping a loose hair behind her ear. There was a bit of an impasse until the stranger beside her spoke again.

"_Murgleis_!" His eyes were wide and still fixed upon the bow. Startled, the Ilian woman directed her attention upon him. Teru restlessly paced at Sheno's feet, as if trying to get his master's attention, but now that the newcomer had uttered that single word in Sacaen, there was no longer any chance for the dog.

"Impossible," Sheno said, instinctively in Kutohl. The other man grinned widely and nodded, his mane of curling olive green hair shaking loose from his shoulders.

"Look, brother," he instructed, also in Sacaen, in the Cayan dialect. He traced his finger down the woven band of the handle, from Father Sky to Mother Earth, where the pattern, Sheno finally noticed, resembled the swirling design of the sacred wind. Even more minute of a detail were the creatures woven into the band, tangled by the swirling colors and threads...

"Perhaps it is not the very one wielded by divine Hanon herself," the Cayan man admitted, "but it is a fine replica."

But Sheno was close to thinking otherwise as his eyes traced and retraced the pattern swallowing the draconic figures. The whispering of the wind against his bare skin, the voice of the ancestors, of Father Sky, Mother Earth, the hum and release of the bowstring...

"Hey!" Johann suddenly said, pulling on Sheno's arm.

"Sheno!" Amaranthe called out as well, placing a hand on his shoulder. "What's wrong? Are you alright?"

"Where... where did you get this?" he asked her, correcting himself when he slipped on the first word. The linguistic shift back to Ilian came with greater difficulty than usual.

"Heh," the woman smiled guiltily. "I took it from the Grace."

"Ninis' Grace?" the Cayan asked with great surprise. Evidently, he knew of it. When Amaranthe nodded, he tsked. "You'd be in a great deal of trouble, miss. Does your friend know?"

"We've already had an encounter with them, and are alive to tell you about it, as you can see," she responded, twisting her hair with a finger.

"Well!" he laughed, crossing his arms. "If this be at the level of provoking the Grace, it would be safe to assume that this is no mere trinket of a bow in our possession."

"No," she agreed, and laughed as well. Sheno knew better by now.

"You're afraid," he said firmly. He had meant it more as an observation than an accusation, but it stopped her in her tracks. She paused, and reached to take the bow from him, running her thumb against the woven band.

"You have to be, you know, if you want to survive out here." Amaranthe's mouth was still twisted in a grin, and she shrugged lightly. " The world is not as gentle as you are, Sheno. But I sincerely hope it doesn't change you."

It was a kind way of saying that he was sheltered, oblivious and naive. After hearing her stories, he knew that she had suffered much, but had left much of it out of their talks. It made him realize that it was true. There was much he did not understand about the world, things that his books could never tell him.

Truth be told, he had been afraid. His ethnicity and culture made him so painfully conspicuous. Even compared to the Cayan, his manner of dress and demeanor somehow seemed... less sophisticated, or even less civilized.

_Never be ashamed. The blood of pride runs pure through your veins..._

The Sacaen allowed the bow to slip out of his hands, his expression unchanged. There was nothing he could really say to that, and the conversation took a turn towards the uncomfortable. She was very coy, always managing to take the upper hand, somehow ending everything by placing unwanted attention upon him. Even as she diverted the focus away from the bow and its possible significance, Sheno chose to let it go.

Then Johann huffed audibly, and forcibly changed the subject as he often did with his interjections. "Huh," He was looking up at the tall newcomer, squinting as he always did when he was sizing someone up."And who're you, mister?" It surprisingly alleviated the awkwardness. Perhaps he was more socially aware than he let on.

The Cayan bowed deeply, perhaps a little too much.

"Kamilo Haeja, at your service, young master. I came with the hope that I may be of assistance to you. And your names are?"

Amaranthe brightened while she tended to her things. "Sheno's the quiet, mature one. He's a genius. Probably the smartest person I know. The short, obnoxious one is Johann. But he's a good kid, generally."

"I'm not a kid," Johann protested. Sheno noted absently how he did not deny that he was obnoxious. He did not quite appreciate her comments regarding him either, but chose not to say anything. Instead, he finally gave Teru the attention he had been begging for, and the dog was beside himself with joy.

"Certainly not," Kamilo assured Johann jovially as Teru licked Sheno's hand with great enthusiasm. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Kamilo's caravan is just beyond the forest," Amaranthe explained. "They're on their way to Valor Isle for the winter festival, and are actually stopping by in Pherae before heading off to Badon. His father leads their group, and he's already agreed to give us a lift. We can maybe look into getting your motorcycle fixed after we get to the city. Isn't that great?"

The Sacaen looked from the Ilian woman to the Cayan man, who bowed again in turn.

"It is as she says," he said in Sacaen. "It would be an honor to have you ride with us, brother."

"Thank you," Sheno said to this, feeling ambivalent about the arrangements. Though there was much of the Cayan culture he also wished to learn, and despite being related them, he felt oddly distant... foreign.

Inferior?

It was the first time this word came to his mind. He firmly rejected it.

But one thing he did know for certain... was that if it was Murgleis being tucked back into Amaranthe's bag (and how could that even be possible?), it could no longer be ignored. Once they had the opportunity for a private conversation, he would question her in more detail about it. There must have been a reason why she risked so much to steal it, a reason as to why she was taking it to Lycia. Perhaps it was related to why she defected in the first place.

"So," Johann said, jabbing a thumb towards Teru, who was wriggling happily at Sheno's feet. "Does this mean I don't have to ride with that stupid dog anymore?"

- o -


	12. XI Of Dragons and Half-Sisters

**Age of Pretense**

Fire Emblem: The Sword of Seals and the Blazing Sword

by eolianstar

_[Email written on 10 Bolting, 3000 A.S.]_

TO: "Ezekiel Lyman" - lymanec

FROM: "Margaret Duran Rolan" - duranmn

SUBJECT: Re: Pherae for the Holidays

Zeke,

Louis will be thrilled. We will keep the guest bedroom clean and well stocked with books for you when you arrive. He is still wrapping up his studies in Ilia, as you know. He really will be so pleased... it has been a long time since the three of us have been together.

Elijah will be three next year-and your meeting him has become absurdly overdue. I'm sure you will adore him; he is as gentle and sweet-natured a child can be. My dear husband has undoubtedly gushed to you his son's praises, so I'll spare you from having to hear my renditions.

Let me know if there are any more developments. I will do my best to keep your visit a secret from Louis, but do keep me updated!

Sincerely,

Margot

- - -  
_On 10 Bolting, Ezekiel Lyman [lymanec] wrote:_

_Margaret,_

_Greetings from Aquleia! I hope this winter season has been seeing you well. I'm writing to let you know that I have time before the New Year to come visit you and Louis in Pherae at the end of this month. If it is not too much of an imposition, I would like to take advantage of the opportunity and escape the bowels of my post-doctorate studies. The bureaucracies of Etrurian academia are hellish._

_ I'm asking that you keep it a surprise for Louis- I'm sure he's going through a worse experience than I am at the moment. He's been sending me emails about how much he wants to see us together in Lycia again soon, spouting off all this nostalgic nonsense about our time at the uni. Your dear husband is a sensitive one. I don't know where he gets it from._

_ At any rate, let me know if this is a possibility. Looking forward to hearing from you soon._

_-Zeke_

_Ps. I know I really ought to be better about keeping track of this, but how old is Elijah now?_

- o -

**XII. Of Dragons and Half-sisters**

The fall was hard, very sudden, and all too unexpected for Johann. The first glance had been a flash of shining hair and the tips of fingers. The second glance was more direct, and allowed him the wonder of her movements, the gentle arch of the back of hand as she reached, the smallness of her bare feet.

Damn... they were really small. How did she move so quick with feet like those?

She didn't notice him, so with sudden timidity he hid behind the red-painted caravan, his hand curled around the corner. There was no music, just the crackling of the bonfire and the twittering of birds, and yet in her mind she must have heard something completely different.

Then, she laughed when she stopped and held her head as if she were dizzy. She bent over, head between her legs, recovering from the mental inertia of her spinning.

And Johann Bariggson was lost forever.

"Holy shit!"

Out of nowhere that stupid dog jumped out from behind him, speeding past him on flying paws. It startled Johann so much that he let out the expletive even more loudly than usual. The girl jumped too, lifting her head, her eyes wide. She was about to flee into the caravan behind her, but Teru whined and wriggled, panting heavily, near drooling with excitement. Disgusting...

But the girl's face changed from fear to delight almost instantly, and she took her hand away from the door pane of the caravan. She said something to him in a different language, her voice playful and husky. Johann noticed with a little interest that Teru seemed especially excited. The only person the dog showed this much affection to was Sheno, and never to strangers.

She matched his affection and laughed as she put her arms around him.

Lucky bastard.

- o -

"Where has that imp run off to now?"

Amaranthe put a hand on her waist in a pose that was very characteristic of her. As she glanced around, Sheno noticed that Teru, in addition to Johann, was no longer with them. Perhaps they had slipped away while Kamilo was showing them around the camp.

No matter, both of them would turn up eventually. He was presently more concerned with their meeting with Kamilo's father. It was hard to say what would be an appropriate greeting. Cayan culture seemed so entirely different from the Sacaen roots from which it had derived. It was strange to hear the language spoken so... jovially, so loudly. The Cayan dialect served it well in that regard, for Sheno could not imagine anybody speaking Kutohl with the same vigor.

Kamilo popped his head out of the top opening of the half-door of the cart, his hair and earrings jostling with the movement.

"Come, come!" he invited them enthusiastically, swinging open the bottom half of the door. He reached a hand for Amaranthe to take, helping her step onto the cart. Sheno followed in afterward, allowing one last glance over the Cayan camp before fully entering.

Gen Haeja was a formidable looking man, though he had a stockier body type; evidently Kamilo had obtained his height and slenderness from his mother. But there was a sharp resemblance between the two in their faces, the same aquiline nose and milk white, perfect teeth.

Though Sheno had noticed that most of the Cayans were of similar disposition to Kamilo-outgoing perhaps to the point of intrusiveness- the father carried a more traditionally Sacaen air. He said nothing throughout their introduction to him, responding neither viscerally nor verbally to his son's theatric words.

They all sat on the cushions in the main compartment of the cart, around what seemed to be a small pot of burning coals that heated the room. The walls were decorated with what seemed to be posters from all over Elibe. Sheno especially noticed the ones with photographs of different cities, ranging from Bern all the way to the Nabatean continent.

"Thank you for allowing us to travel with you," Randie said cheerfully when Kamilo allowed for a break in his speech. She kneeled instead of sitting cross-legged as the others did, her hands on her lap. "We're very grateful for your hospitality."

Sheno responded in Sacaen to show the utmost respect. "May the blessings of our Father and Mother fall upon your house."

Gen Haeja's eyes fell upon the young plainsman, his face hardened with many years of travel and exposure to sun and wind. He did not smile, nor did any sort of expression soften his face.

"Although we agree to take you," the man finally said, replying in Ilian to accommodate all the guests, "there is a fee. Nobody in my party is permitted to eat or even associate with us without doing their part. You work as much as any of my own kin if you wish to be a part of us. The work is substantial."

"That's completely fair," Amaranthe agreed, her bright mood not dampened in the slightest by this new condition. Sheno was grateful. He would not like to have been in debt to anyone, and resented the idea of merely taking from the generosity of others. But Gen Haeja was not finished.

"Secondly. My son says that you have in your possession something dangerous."

At this, Amaranthe did flicker in her demeanor. She looked first to Kamilo, but then more lingeringly at Sheno. Remarkably, Kamilo also assumed a more serious air, the laughter gone from his eyes. In this way, he looked his part, Sheno thought, suddenly realizing that the young Cayan too, was essentially a chieftain's son. With the man's hair like a wild mane around him, his eyes sharp and focused, Sheno saw an equal.

Amaranthe nodded grimly. The older man merely shifted his attention to her, who politely returned his gaze. "Let us see it."

She blinked, and touched her bag in response. "The bow?"

"The dragon."

After a short, confused look, her lips parted slightly with an exhalation that indicated that she understood. Unfastening her jacket, she took it off slowly to reveal the image on her white shoulder.

It started as low as her elbow, the tail curling around the apex of the joint. It trailed about the length of her bicep, finally resting with its head upon the curve of her shoulder.

"The Ice Dragon." Kamilo whistled low.

"It is a brand I'll forever bear," she said, her eyes low, her jacket spread across her lap as she still remained kneeling there. "And as long as I am alive, I live in the shadow of Ninis' Grace. I'm sorry."

"Tell me," Gen Haeja returned, still maintaining tight control over his facial features. "Why is the divine weapon of our ancestors in the hands of the Grace? And why have you deserted them and stolen such a valuable thing?"

At this, the woman pulled out the bow to present it to him, though she had not been bidden to do so. All eyes were drawn to the arc of wood in her hands, and the coals in the hearth mysteriously crackled in response.

"Yes. I'll tell you everything." She lay it on the floor before them like an offering. Then, when she spoke again, she assumed a fuller tone, as if to accentuate the importance of the information she was about to give them.

"In the summer of last year, there was a Bernese man who approached the Grace about a ruin that he claimed to be outside of Old Edessa. Although the Grace hires its hands out to perform... specialty tasks, they are very particular about the jobs they take on. So I was surprised when a small group of us were ordered on this mission to recover an archaeological relic..

"Eventually, we were able to recover it." She drew an invisible line horizontally across the floor. "It was a spear, a legendary weapon that we Ilians call Maltet in our epics. The one reported to have been wielded by great Barigan himself."

Sheno felt a strange chill, as if the very mention of the divine instrument could have had the authority to cause it. Murgleis shone in the dancing firelight, responding to the name of its companion being spoken aloud.

"I'm sure that I don't have to tell you the legends of the Divine Generals. The man who approached us with the information of Maltet's existence also was very knowledgeable about Murgleis and its possible location. He and a business partner were willing to pay an exorbitant sum for both, and thus we were commissioned for the bow's recovery as well. I'm certain even now the negotiations for Maltet have already been settled."

"If that be so, you must have known the danger of taking such a trophy," Kamilo prompted. She smiled wistfully.

"We might all be mobsters at the Grace... but money is not the primary motivation for what we do. I felt already very uncomfortable with all of this, because it was so much money we were dealing with. And then when it came to the actual artifacts... Perhaps you feel it too... a forbidding power. The first time I saw Maltet, I shivered in its presence. Every Ilian child knows the legends of the Ending Winter, but I didn't believe it until that moment. From then on, a seed of doubt sprouted in my mind. I think the ancients had a knowledge... be it spiritual or scientific, that was far advance from what we know now. These things ought not to be disturbed, or at the least, should be handled with great care."

"Like stuffing it in a duffel bag and carrying it halfway across the continent?" Kamilo suggested innocently, and Sheno raised an eyebrow. Amaranthe's lips twisted in amusement.

"You are so charming, you know?"

He bowed graciously.

"But you should have been there when both Murgleis and Maltet were next to each other. The air was so thick, you could hardly breathe. I had voiced my uneasiness before. I told my sister again and again that we couldn't trust the Bernese man or his partner. I was afraid of what they wanted with these weapons. I could only think that nothing good could come of it. But she ignored me. When I knew that she would never listen to me, I made my decision."

"Your sister? Don't tell us..." Kamilo said, leaning in closer, as if observing Amaranthe for the first time.

"My half-sister... is Charlotte Fjorsdottir, the leader of Ninis' Grace."

Kamilo shot a look at his father. Sheno kept his gaze upon Randie, who refused to look back at him. He was not sure if her familial relation to the Grace's head warranted more severity or mercy. The latter did not seem to be likely, from the impressions he was receiving of this organization.

Gen Haeja was the first to speak after the uncomfortable pause. "Why do you wish to go to Lycia?"

"Long ago, when I was attending boarding school in New Ed, one of my tutors was a Lycian archaeologist. He had believed in the existence of the divine weapons, although I didn't buy it at the time. He lives in Pherae. I... I'm hoping he can help me secure Murgleis. I mean- I know that it rightfully belongs to your people, Sheno. But..." she crossed her arms, her hand subconsciously rubbing at her elbow where the dragon tattoo began. "I don't think it would be safe in Sacae. Or rather, I don't think Sacae would be safe if it were there."

No, he agreed. He recalled the two guns still stowed away in the secret compartment of his dying motorcycle, and could only imagine that the Grace had in its possession even more fearsome arms than these. Sacaen bows and wills, no matter how iron they were, would be no match. Unbidden, thoughts of the Ilian-Sacae war over a century ago came to Sheno's mind. Were they just at another tipping point, at the very edges of fresh and returning history?

"Very well," Gen Haeja finally said, and abruptly the conversation seemed to wind down to a close. "That will be all for now. Kamilo will see to your needs. It is a week's journey from here to Pherae, so you had best get used to how things are run around here."

Amaranthe opened her mouth, and seemed to be caught between an apology and thanks. But the man raised his hand to indicate that the conversation indeed, had come to a close, and left the room without a spare glance back. Sheno himself was still attempting to make sense of everything, feeling overall more displaced than ever.

"Come!" Kamilo said, resuming his usual lightness and springing to his feet. The two guests glanced at him glumly, and he offered both of them each hand, as if offering to help them to their feet. "Come, come! There is much to do. We can't afford to sit idly by when there be dragons knipping at our heels!"

- o -

Sheno went to go find Teru after the three of them separated. Kamilo had taken Amaranthe to find some of the women to get new clothes. Dressed as she was, she was too conspicuous traveling with a Cayan community. Kamilo offered to find clothes for Sheno as well, as he was not any less conspicuous in his Sacaen manner of dress.

The camp was rather large, as there were perhaps fifteen or so caravans in Gen Haeja's train. Several other dogs wandered the grounds freely, and uninhibited they approached Sheno to sniff at the new scents he brought with him. He was also drawing attention from the caravaners, most of whom spared him friendly waves or slight nods in his direction. The Sacaen still harbored an uneasy feeling; it seemed that things that were a little familiar were somehow more off-putting than entirely foreign things. The brightly colored paint on the wooden carts, the hanging wind chimes and the Cayan laughter...

It was almost half an hour later when he arrived in a small, semi-private area where a cluster of caravans circled around a small fire. He heard his dog's barking followed by female laughter, and rounded the walls to investigate.

The girl was in a mid-spin when she caught a glimpse of Sheno and stopped in her tracks. She started in a mad dash towards the open door of a blue cart, but something made her stop, and she looked back at him with large, frightened eyes. Teru barked happily and padded towards his master, jumping up with more energy than usual.

Sheno gave him an order in Kutohl to stand down, which was dutifully obeyed, and looked back at the girl, who had a strange expression in her face. It was one that seemed to indicate both fear and wonder, the questioning light gleaming in her gaze.

"Fa...ther...?" she asked in Cayan, her voice so soft he almost missed it. He was astounded. She was perhaps eleven or twelve years, and he was not even close to being thirty years of age. And yet...

"What is your name?" he asked her in Sacaen softly, slowly lowering himself onto his knees as if he were approaching a scared animal. Most of her body was still turned away from him, as if at any moment she were ready to bolt.

"Riono Ahn," was her reply. She was a beautiful girl, her hair a dark violet instead of the typical Sacaen green or even Bulgarian brown. There was a definitive Sacaen look about her, with her petite frame and dark skin. He also noticed with some particular concern her very small feet, bare and covered in white scratches..

"Sheno Kharashi."

Teru sat on his haunches beside him, and Sheno scratched the dog behind the ears, all the while watching Riono cautiously.

Then, in a childlike boldness quite contrary to her previous display of timidity, she approached him, arms stretched out, and touched his face-his cheeks, the sides of his head. Her eyes then looked down at the amulet around his neck, and her fingers went there as well, touching the leather cord and the clay beads.

It was like this for a moment, without a single word passing between them. She was most interested in his amulet and the Sacaen embroidery on his collar and coat, spending the most time studying and touching the threads.

This was how he knew that in some way, this girl was a daughter of Sacae.

"Johann! What are you creeping around for?"

Amaranthe's voice rang out so suddenly that both Sheno and Riono jumped, the latter barely having done so before flying to the open door and disappearing through it. Teru remained seated where he was, his ears pricked up as he turned to look.

Sheno was able to see Johann around the corner of the red caravan beyond them, and from his posture and placement, Sheno could guess that he had been there for a while and had been watching them the entire time. Randie and Kamilo approached from the other side of the camp.

"I wasn't creeping..." Johann remarked sheepishly, his face reddening. Then he turned and fled himself, as if did not have enough material to defend himself with.

"I wonder what that was all about... ah, but it looks like I scared her again..." Amaranthe lamented. The Cayan garb suited her well. They had given her a loose, rose colored blouse with black thread sewn in a design on the lapels. The skirt seemed more like a long shawl tied at the hip. Stringy tassels draped down from its hem.

Kamilo was holding some folded clothes in his arms, presumably the set he had promised Sheno.

"Rio-girl," he laughed, looking to the blue caravan to which she had escaped. "It is not your fault. She has always been terrified of strangers."

"She didn't seem to be afraid of Sheno though," Randie remarked. "What were you doing?"

Sheno straightened, his hand going to the leather amulet she had been touching not moments before. "She called me father. Why?"

They gave him identical puzzled looks before Kamilo snapped a finger upon realization.

"Ah! That is because her father was Sacaen. You see, he was a man that travelled with us for a few months. Rio-girl's dead mother was the daughter of my father's best friend. She and this man must have been involved with each other somehow... I do not know the details. I was only a boy at the time." Kamilo shrugged. "He left the caravan to pursue his travels even before knowing the mother had conceived him a daughter."

"So he could still be alive," Randie observed, and then jumped on the opportunity to tease her traveling companion. "Wait Sheno, don't tell me it actually is you!"

It was more than obvious that he was not reasonably old enough to father a child of that girl's age. There was another thought that crossed his mind, however, and it kept him silent.

"Are you all right?" the Ilian woman asked, looking a little concerned. "I'm sorry, was that a bad joke?"

He shook his head. "No, it's not that."

There was no movement at all from inside the blue caravan, but the wind chime hanging from the awning sang half-heartedly in the light breeze. Kamilo coughed and changed the subject.

"We found new clothes for you, brother," he said, indicating the bundle. "I can show you where you will be staying and you can change there, if you wish."

"I'll go find Johann and make sure he gets settled too," Amaranthe said, resting a hand on her waist. "He was acting a little odd just now, so I wonder if he's up to no good." She turned and waved a couple of fingers as she left. "See you fellas later!"

Just as they too, were leaving the circle, Teru whined and Sheno looked back to see Riono watching from the very edge of the door. When she saw that he had noticed her, she waved shyly. He raised a hand to greet her in turn, and she smiled.

From this point on, Kamilo spoke entirely in Cayan. But given the nature of what Kamilo wished to speak about, Sheno realized that it was not only a matter of comfort, but also discretion.

"Brother- a thousand pardons if it is not my place to ask, but what do you intend to do once we reach Pherae? Will you go with the woman and the boy on their quest? It seemed to me that you do not have any obligation to them."

"No," Sheno responded, also in Sacaen. "There is no obligation."

"Charlotte Fjorsdottir is one of the most feared people in Elibe. Just a few years ago, she personally executed the assassination of the Ilian prime minister- did know about that?"

The Sacaen plainsmen were not so isolated as to not have heard about the assassination-but the connection between the assassin and his traveling companion of a few weeks came as somewhat of a shock to him. This new insight gave him a fresh understanding of the magnitude and closeness of what they were up against. His books were riddled with countless events of assassinations, of political intrigue and of national calamities... and yet, now...

His intentions for leaving the plains had been very simple. To experience and see for himself the lands of his books, to expand the limits of his belief, to see history meet with the landscape. And also...

He touched the leather cord and thought on his conversation with Johann on the side of the road, on the half-Sacaen girl with the violet hair and the first word she spoke to him. Then there were the recent images, of Amaranthe's bloodied hand, the stories and the talk at the nighttime fires, the legend of the woman in the mist...

"I will accompany them until I am no longer wanted."

They stopped outside one of the doors where Sheno's motorcycle had been propped. Kamilo did not move yet to go inside, but instead stopped to observe his companion carefully.

"You know, come to think of it, in many ways you do remind me of the Sacaen that fathered Riono."

Sheno frowned involuntarily. "Why?"

"I had never met a plainsman who was interested in the affairs outside of the plains, or even spoke a tongue other than Sacaen before that man joined our company. You are willing to go to a foreign land in the company of Ilians, and moreover, at the risk your life."

"I do not think I am like him at all." As soon as he said it, he wondered why he had. Perhaps it was because of the light of deep longing and hope in the girl's eyes, the hope that someone had remembered and returned for her. Kamilo smiled his ivory smile and waved a hand.

"Ah, it is inconsequential. Anyways, these are for you, brother. You may use these quarters as your own. From this point until you leave, you will be as one of us."

He thanked him in the most humble Sacaen tense, to which the Cayan bowed. After the man had gone, Sheno glanced back at the motorcycle leaning sadly against its stand, looking battered and far beyond its years. Teru sat next to it and scratched at his neck with a hind leg.

The next day, when the caravan stopped at the next nearest city to resupply and perform for income, Sheno sold it to a local mechanic who took it apart and harvested what was left. Afterward, he bought a few new books, a carton of candies for Johann and a small pair of girl's shoes.

- o -

_Author's Notes:_

Sorry this is sososo late! Will try really hard to re-establish a rhythm of updating.

_Also, in case you do not recall, Charlotte Fjorsdottir had already been introduced in Part IV. Check it out if you want to re-read it in the light of this chapter's new information :) _


	13. XII The Final Proof

**Age of Pretense**

Fire Emblem: The Sword of Seals and the Blazing Sword

by eolianstar

**THE OSTIA DAILY**

**14 Fimbulvetr, 3012**

**GOVERNOR FAREY TO REPRESENT LYCIA AT THE INTERNATIONAL ELIBEAN COUNCIL**

_Valor Isle - Yesterday's meeting at the Lycian League unanimously appointed Governor Lysander Farey of Pherae to represent Lycia at the annual International Elibean Council. Already having been invited to the council as a speaker, Governor Farey accepted the appointment and forwarded his thanks to the council and to the Lycian people._

"_It is a great honor for me to represent my country. I hope that one day, the work I lay down will be the stepping stones for our children to further globalization and peace in Elibe," he said in response to yesterday's results. _

_Governor Farey's work for international peace and charity, as well as his good relations to Bern and Etruria, has earned him considerable merit over the past few years. His adoption of Irene Ivaldi, a young girl from Aquleia, also garnered him some attention last year when he was preparing for his office as the Pheraen governor._

_The Elibean Council is held yearly at Valor Isle to promote peace and international policies for the betterment of Elibe. Governor Farey intends to spend the winter in Valor with his adopted daughter, and will return to Pherae before the new year._

**XIII. The Final Proof**

_Boys..._

Fae drew her hat low over her face as she tried to ignore the suffocating tension in their row. Lionel was sitting on her left, next to the aisle, unsuccessfully trying to hide his displeasure from his face while Elijah was in the window seat, also seeming uncharacteristically unhappy. Their frustration towards each other was evident from even just a single glance between the two of them.

Upon arriving at the station, they had been able to purchase their tickets to Bern without any hindrances. The first signs of trouble happened afterwards, when they were trying to figure out where to spend the night. The next train did not leave Ostia until early the next morning.

Lionel was adamant about finding lodging, despite the fact that they would have to pay the full daily fee for being there for just a few hours. Elijah, having already evaluated their financial and material assets, argued that it was an unnecessary expense and that they would do well enough to spend the night at the station.

She had done her best to mediate the situation, but both of them were extremely tired and already on edge from the night's events. She gave them that excuse to allow them the benefit of the doubt. Their discussion escalated into a heated argument, both assuming tones that made Fae wince. Elijah seemed to have a sounder logic, especially since Lionel did not offer his reasons for his preference, though he still argued with equal ferocity.

"You're being unreasonable! We can't afford to make these sorts of senseless expenses when our budget is so limited."

"Most of our funds are mine- I have the right to decide how to spend my own money!"

"If we're going to be travelling together, we have to work with each other- if you're always going to do your own thing, it's going to cost us as a group!"

"Nobody asked you to come along!"

After a while, she had no choice but to sit a little distance away from them so that they could settle things for themselves.

After an hour or so of bitter silence on the train, Fae was thinking about it, and then realized suddenly why Lionel was so opposed to waiting at the station. She looked over at him and could see the bruise spidering under the bandage on his forehead. Even as they walked through the station and boarded the train, she had noticed him stealing looks around, as if he had expected to find someone watching them.

_I've been afraid for three years. I'm always afraid._

"What is it?" Lionel had caught her staring at him, and even though his face was still partly fixed in a scowl, he did not sound annoyed or bothered by her gesture. Elijah had fallen asleep, his head leaning against the window. He seemed absolutely exhausted.

"That Etrurian girl that attacked you in Ostia... was she someone you knew very well?"

His face changed immediately, surprise lifting his expression.

"Her name is Mina. I've known her a while, but she has never liked me or my sisters. I think she became especially resentful of us after the Way chose Irene. There is another man with her named Thierry... I'm sure he was nearby when I met you."

"Are they a part of the Way as well?"

"Yes. They're fully indoctrinated. But they are strong. I wouldn't want to run into them again- especially if Thierry's there."

"I see."

They fell into a pause, both looking to Elijah when he shifted a little in his sleep. Fae twisted her fingers in her lap.

"Don't be too mad at Elijah. He's a very kind person."  
"I know," Lionel said quickly, as if he had known better all along. He still looked frustrated, and Fae realized immediately that it was a frustration aimed at himself. "It's a stupid thing, I know. I think we're just tired and high-strung from all of this."

"Yeah."

"I... I'm not really good with people," he confessed, rubbing the back of his neck as he blew out his cheeks and then deflated them. "I've been trying to figure out this whole time how to apologize to him. I know he just wants what's best..."

Fae smiled brightly, and leaned away from the seat to look him more closely in the eye. "Wow!"

"W-what?" he asked, startled.

"I'm just surprised, is all," she said, finally allowing the last bit of discomfort and tension to ebb away. "You kind of seem scary sometimes- ah! I mean..." she waved her hands apologetically when his own expression gave way to dismay. "You just seem very headstrong and decisive. It can make other people second-guess themselves. I'm just realizing you're actually very humble."

"Not at all... I actually am a really proud person," he admitted, still smarting from her words. "But I'm surprised too. Your friend seemed like the cautious, play it by the rules sort who doesn't like to step outside the comforts of his neatly planned world. It made me realize that people are really different from what you think. That in itself is pretty humbling."

"Yes, I agree," Fae returned, and glanced at Elijah, who was still peacefully sleeping.

"It goes for you too, you know."  
"Huh?" She jerked her head back towards his direction.

"I mean... I didn't really know what to expect. The legends are really vague when it comes to your people, but I imagined you to be..."

"What?" Fae inched closer, rather curious now.

"More serious? Emotionless? Certainly not the small, hesitant girl that I first met in the alley. And actually, you're not really that either."

She laughed, and Lionel smiled. It was a more genuine smile than the one he had permitted the night before.

"You weren't completely wrong about the emotionless part. It is the natural state for us-but emotions are very influential. It just took a little human interaction for us to learn how to empathize."

"What? You learned to be emotional? That's possible?"

"We're fast learners with just about everything we want to learn," Fae shrugged, and fingered the edge of her hand rest. "And it's hard to unlearn anything. There's a lot I can never forget, even if I wanted to."

There was a bit of silence at that, both returning to the churning of thoughts in their own respective minds. The golden glow of the early sunlight began to creep in through the window, setting Elijah's crimson head aflame.

"Will you tell him?" Lionel asked, a little quietly. She did not have to ask what he meant.

"I... I want to. I just don't know how."

"All right," the Etrurian said resolutely, "How about this: I have to figure out how to apologize, and you figure out how to tell him. And then we actually have to do it before we get to the next station."

"That's not fair," Fae pouted. "You have it much easier."

"You don't know that. I'm really really proud," he replied, "And besides, I'll help you too. Maybe it'll be easier for him to believe us if he sees my magic."

"All right, deal." They shook on it, both feigning solemnity, with smiles leaking at the corners of their mouths.

And Elijah was still completely passed out, utterly oblivious to the fact that he had been the subject of their talk.

- o -

He woke up just after the lunch trolley passed by their row, and for a few moments he was completely disoriented, confused to find himself on a train.

"Wait... when do we arrive in Ostia?" he asked groggily after Fae told him where they were. She laughed that fairy-like laugh of hers.

"No, we're leaving Ostia! You came to Ostia yesterday morning, remember?"

"Oh."

He excused himself and they allowed him to move past them, into the aisle to go to the washroom. There, he washed his face and put in his contacts, trying to wake up as much as he could, reorienting himself to the present circumstances. The lemon-mint scent of his mother's hand lotion helped awake and calm his senses a little. He applied it a little more liberally today.

Coffee... It was a bad habit he had picked up during his internship (and no doubt it was his dear uncle's influence as well), but it would be hard to get through the rest of the morning without it. It had been a long night, and he was still sore from his fencing tried not to think of how his absence would forfeit his chances in the tournament. If he had continued to do well, he could have had at most three matches that day.

Hrm. It was too bad. He had spent the last few months conditioning himself to compete. Oh well... Hold all things loosely, as his mother always said. Examining himself in the mirror, he attempted to coax his wild hair into a more presentable position. Futile.

Lastly, he checked his mobile and noticed a hefty list of missed calls from Rolana. It was too early in the morning to get verbally chewed out, but he promised himself to call her back soon. And also Zeke. And also mum—

Oh! She had left him a voicemail.

"Elijah, I received an unusual email from Ezekiel. Is everything all right? Please call me back when you can."

"Gah!"  
He was about to hit the redial button when the low battery alert flashed across the screen. With a jolt Elijah realized that he had completely forgotten to pack his charger. He smacked himself in the forehead with his free palm and shut off the device in case he had to use it for an emergency. The adults would just have to wait until he found a phone booth... he hoped his mother wouldn't worry too much.

After leaving the lavatory, Elijah dug into his pocket for loose change, and absently wondered if Lionel would consider him a hypocrite for spending money on a luxury like coffee. As he was gauging how much of a necessity the caffeine was, a photograph on the front page of a newspaper caught his eye. He stopped abruptly, and the elderly gentleman who was reading it looked over at at him strangely.

"Excuse me sir," Elijah asked, raising a hand to indicate he was apologetic for bothering him. "Did you happen to purchase that paper here on the train?"

When he returned to his row, Fae and Lionel had already started eating lunch. They looked much brighter and happier now that they had something to eat, but they must have noticed his frown because their expressions darkened a little as well.

"Is this something we should be concerned about?" Elijah gently laid down the newspaper (the cost for which he had paid with his intended coffee money) on Lionel's table-tray. Fae leaned over to take a better look, and Lionel's face, which previously had been uncertain, hardened with recognition.

The photograph was of Lysander Farey, and beside him was a pretty girl with long pale hair. The resemblance between her and Lionel was strong, and with the content of the article itself, Elijah had no question as to who it was.

"The International Elibean Council?" Fae asked after a while of silence.

"It's starting in a couple of days. Chances are they'll already have left by the time we get to Bern. We'll have to change course, and can probably catch a ferry in Badon..." Elijah trailed off noticing that Lionel looked rather bothered. His apprehension seemed to be more than just having to deal with a change in destination. "What's wrong?"

"Why does it have to be Valor Isle..." the Etrurian said, his brow creased.

"It's always held there," Elijah replied with some surprise. "It's the only internationally neutral territory. Why? Is something wrong?"

When he failed to answer, Fae made an observation of her own. "They don't mention you at all, Lionel- only your sister."

Elijah blinked, and reread the last part of the article. It was true. There was no suggestion that there had even been a brother. How could the media gloss over that, when the adoption of the Ivaldi siblings had supposedly 'garnered attention'? There had been undoubtedly two siblings that were reported to have been adopted, Elijah remembered. Although he was still getting used to the idea that Lionel had been one of them, he recalled that much clearly. A brother and a sister.

He felt a strange internal chill. Something about the discrepancy was very eerie to him. They needed to act.

"I'll talk to the conductor and see if we can get a transfer in our tickets. I think afterwards it's about time we talk about what our strategy will be."

"Wait, Elijah!"

He had started to step towards the front of the car, but Lionel's interjection stopped him. "What is it?"

"About yesterday... I just wanted to apologize for my behavior." Lionel did not glance away like he often did, but met Elijah's gaze. Both boys had blue eyes, though Elijah had to admit that Lionel's were prettier. The Etrurian seemed embarrassed, but the clarity of those eyes convinced Elijah of the sincerity of the apology, and somehow it made the boy seem that much more appealing in his appearance.

Elijah felt immense appreciation and graciousness to have received those words. Leaning against the seat, he grinned and reached out a hand.

"Yeah, I'm sorry too. Let's work together to help your sister, yeah?" Lionel paused a little at the very Lycian gesture, but also smiled, and they shook on it. Fae was beaming, and Elijah swore the sunlight through the window created a halo about her magenta locks.

What attractive companions he had, he thought to himself, and in the same moment chided himself for thinking something that Zeke would have thought.

Returning to himself, Elijah instead corrected himself by thinking how exciting everything was. It had been impulsive, but he was glad he decided to do this. Afterall, who in the 30th century ever had adventures anymore?

- o -

It was very early morning at the cafe, so most of the present patrons were regulars that started their daily routines there. It was one of those more artsy, progressively styled coffee shops with fashionable typography and minimalist sensibilities. Zeke waited quietly at one of the tables made for two, sipping on the dark roast while attempting to read the morning headlines. It was a black sort of a day.

He was early to his appointment; he needed a bit of time to calm his mind before Elaine Hart showed up. Whatever her motivation was for wanting so urgently to meet with him, the professor was sure he needed to prepare himself.

Elijah and Fae running off with Lionel had also been mentally disruptive to him. Admittedly, the possibility of it happening had not been even a remote anticipation. It was something he should have been wary of, knowing that Fae was not someone to be trifled with. The fact that she expressed strong feelings towards helping the Etrurian boy should have been a tip off.

And it was also equally dangerous to assume that Elijah was just a good little boy and would simply do as he was told. It was easy to think so, since the kid appeared deceptively normal.

Louis had been the same way. It was always to the surprise of others when they found out that Zeke, despite his more showy personality, was actually the more conservative and cautious one of the two cousins. Louis was always the one breaking rules and pushing limits, the one owning up to the consequences when things went wrong...

Zeke sighed and folded the newspaper. So much for clearing his mind. He had been stuck in the past for far too long to have that hope any longer. He was about to reach for one of the history books on the table (because strangely enough, he was more in the present when his mind was contemplating history compared to when it was left to its own devices), when the bell at the door gave a little jingle and Dr. Hart stepped inside.

He checked his watch. She too, had arrived a little earlier than their scheduled time. She caught his glance, and immediately he was greeted with the dirtiest look he had received in a while. He had to keep from chuckling or breaking into a smile, lest her ire be further kindled against him. Instead, he drank more of his coffee and acknowledged her with as much neutrality he could afford.

She exchanged words with the barista who promptly began on her order. The professor had earlier mentioned her to him, so when the man slid her the drink and she attempted to pay, she was waved aside and told that the tab had already been picked up. This succeeded in irritating the good doctor even more, so when she sat down at the other side of the table, she was fuming enough to compete with her latte.

"That was unnecessary," she began, her Bernese accent even stronger now that she was fully cross with him. Bernese people always sounded much angrier than everyone else. As much as Zeke enjoyed flirting with the perils of the female temper, he did want to maintain at least a manageable working relationship with her. He had to consciously resist the temptation to push some buttons.

"Forgive me if it was too forward. I thought perhaps it was the very least I could do."

"No matter," she muttered, and took a reluctant sip, as if she were doing him a favor.

"Thank you for meeting me so early. I was very pleased that the results were in so soon, and I-"

"Please, Dr. Lyman," Elaine cut him off, pulling out a large envelope from her purse. "I'm sure you have realized that I do not like to indulge in the small talk. If you don't mind, I would rather go straight into the matter for which we are meeting."

"By all means."

"Especially since it seems you have a habit of wasting my time."

"Pardon?" He looked at her with some awe, genuinely wondering what on earth she could be talking about. She pulled out the papers inside and just about shoved it towards him. There were lines of code extending across the pages in rows of three.

"Would you care to explain this? Is this your idea of a joke? It is of extremely poor taste, and very unprofessional."

The first line was labeled "Fae Arcadia," the second, "human" and the third "_draconae wyvera_." There were also patches of green letters, which seemed to indicate the portions in which the three lines had matching code. Zeke skimmed through them, noting with great wonder how the first and last lines shared a considerate percentage of green letters, but very few with the second.

"What does this mean?" he asked upon finally looking up from the sheet. He thought he knew, but he had to be absolutely certain.

"You tell me. There was a thirty percent match between the DNA I received from 'Fae Arcadia's' blood sample and the genome of the common wyvern, and only a five percent match to the human genome. I have never seen this genome before in my life. Do you think this is funny?"

"I assure you, no," Ezekiel replied firmly and quite truthfully. In fact, this was very serious business. He had to resist the urge to grab all of his things and leave the cafe immediately.

She examined him carefully, lowering her cup. The shift in the professor's demeanor must have been very evident, for she too, seemed to pick up his gravity.

"You know something. I think I deserve to know."

_Ah_, he thought, and entertained a new thought. It was time to test if he had made the right choice when he had come across her name in the directory of university physicians. Although she may be partially blinded by her devotion to the infallibility of science, he could sense that she was teetering on the edge of looking beyond what she knew. Perhaps it was time he tried to pick up some more allies.

"Dr. Hart," he began, and picked up one of his books on the table, "as a scientist, you have a different view of history than I do. As one versed in the anthropological and liberal spheres of academia, I profess a paradigm that does not always sympathize with the naturalist's philosophy. If anything, I attempt to transcend it."

She did not interrupt him this time, apparently anticipating that he was going somewhere with this. Her rosy gaze was sharp though, piercing.

"So sometimes we are required to expand the borders of our belief in order to accommodate all schools of thought and consider their validity." He opened the book, parting it at a chapter in the middle. He placed it down and turned it to face Elaine, the title of chapter clearly readable beside his finger. On the opposite page, there was a photograph of an elaborate tapestry depicting dragons in thread and embroidery. "So according to your professional opinion, what do you think of dragons, and of the Scouring? As you are someone from Bern as well, I would be very interested in what you have to say."

Her eyes were cast upon the book, and then to the sheet with the genetic data. Then, they darted back to his face, still maintaining their potency.

"You're not serious. Are you suggesting..."

He merely gestured for her to answer his question. He had expected her to either protest or get up and leave, but she did not.

"I think that if they did exist, they were merely the evolutionary precursor to the wyvern and were wiped out during the war. It's possible they too, were employed in warfare. Physics makes it impossible for them to be as large as some legends describe, but it is not impossible that they existed at one point, despite the lack of archaeological proof. There have been written records describing them, but that falls into your realm of expertise, doctor."

"So the idea that they were creatures of great intellect, with the ability to reason and wield technology with as much sophistication as humans..."

"Is completely fantastical. Even the most intelligent reptilian creatures of the world are unable to solve problems that even the most inferior primates can-let alone start a war with humans. Now I've entertained you long enough, Dr. Lyman. What are you saying with all of this?"

"That I am unwilling to tell you anything you aren't willing to believe." Zeke said promptly, and decided it was about time to leave. "I'll allow you the time to think over everything we talked about and the results of Fae's blood test. I swear upon my integrity as a scholar that it's not a joke. You can ask your nurse yourself that while Fae was having her blood drawn, I was in your office speaking to you and would not have had the chance to tamper with the samples."

To her credit, Elaine remained calm as Zeke stood and pulled on his coat. He left the book open on the table while gathering his other things.

"Once you are willing to bend the very crux of your scientific paradigms, come and find me. Then we'll talk."

As soon as he exited the cafe, he called a cab even though the station was well within walking distance. No more setbacks or pretenses now, not now that he was certain. He could not take any chances, especially when he thought of how Fae's older sister had been found dead**—**murdered. Perhaps he had been too calm until now.

He absolutely had to find Fae.


	14. XIII Three Years Ago

**Age of Pretense**

Fire Emblem: The Sword of Seals and the Blazing Sword

by eolianstar

_Behold!__ Our Lady in her meek descent _

_clothed in the fleshly vesture of the blessed one_

_returneth unto us with not a stave, __but a sword_

_A sword! A sword!_

_and it cameth to pass _

_the judgement of Her righteous right hand_

_a beacon shineth upon the Dread Isle_

_whither the ancient powers stirreth and ready for war_

_and darkness again seizeth the land_

_fear not, for the longest night shall be as day_

_the glory of Her everlasting light shining as a thousand suns_

_but not so for the wicked!_

_they shall be tossed into the darkness_

_where tongues are stilled evermore_

_"But thou, my faithful saints,_

_Thy destiny shall be restoration and enlightenment shall be thy design_

_Therefore fear not the way of suffering, nor the sting of death._

_Behold, I come quickly! Surely that day is at hand,_

_I come quickly!"_

_-The Revelation of the Saint_, Religious text of the Way of Divine Light

**XIII. Three Years Ago**

Thierry hated boats almost as much as he hated cats. The captain kept a galley tabby and let it roam the deck at will to keep mice infestations off of his boat. That night when he went out for a breather, he turned to see the glowing orbs staring back at him from the shelf and it took everything he had to stop himself from tearing the despicable creature in half with his bare hands.

"Stop that. You're being obnoxious" Mina had told him with a tight jaw when he was pacing restlessly during the last half hour of their voyage. Most people showed their dimples when they smiled, but her dimple only appeared when she was angry and set her jaw like that. Or maybe it appeared when she smiled as well. It was impossible to know. She never smiled.

"Yessir," he muttered, resisting the immature temptation to roll his eyes. She was a third of his size at best, and he was her superior, but the quality of life was simply better when he didn't cross her in these sour moods. She had been in an extra sour mood after their quarry had slipped through her fingers in Ostia. They had been so close to getting their hands on the kid. Thierry would have planned on giving him a good thrashing for the trouble he had caused them if he hadn't been the brother of their Lady.

But Lysander told them not to worry, that Lionel would soon come to them instead. The Governor was summoning the all the members of the Way back to Valor Isle, claiming that the Lady had seen a vision, and that it was necessary for them to be present.

The last time they were all together... Thierry shuddered at the memory. He had no particular love for the High Priestess, but nobody deserved to die like that. And poor Lenore... It was such a pity, she had always been a feisty girl. Despite Valor being a world-renowned resort and tourist attraction, he was in no place to relax, especially considering how disastrous things could get.

No matter. The past was the past, and now they were certain that their Lady had returned, as the prophecy had spoken. No matter the sacrifices, no matter the cost... they would be the bearers of light to Elibe.

"I don't like it," Mina said, chewing on her lip. Her dimple sank deeper into her skin, like a needle pressed into a balloon before it pops.

"Like what?"

"That we're taking orders from that Lycian man rather than Alexis."

"But we _are_ taking orders from Alexis. He told us to obey Lysander."

"I don't like it."

Thierry heaved a sighed. His brother, the High Priest of the Way, was not someone who gave his trust lightly. And besides, the High Priestess had trusted Lysander before Alexis did, so that had to mean something too. Afterall, she was the one who entrusted her kids to that guy.

Though honestly, it was hard to tell if Sabine Ivaldi had ever loved her children. She was kind of... crazy... And she had been wrong about Lenore, an error that had cost them both of their lives. To think, all along she had chosen the wrong sister. It was truly a wonder that her eldest daughter was now...

Ah, there! The darkness made it a little hard to make out, but he could see the outline of the island against the waters. He was eager to get of this blasted boat. He needed something steadier to stand on.

"We're meeting everyone at the Dragon's Gate, again on the night of the winter solstice." Thierry reminded Mina, though it was more to distract himself from the lurching floor under his feet than to inform her. Light snow scattered down, sticking to the metal railing while melting on clothes and skin. "Until then, we're just waiting to make sure that they get here."

"Who?" Mina demanded, listening impatiently as she braided her long hair for having nothing else to do.

"Lionel. And there's a girl and another guy with them. Lysander said the girl's especially important, but he didn't say why. We don't really care about the other kid, but the girl and Lionel have to be there too."

"Whatever."

The man leaned against the balustrade, squinting in the wind as he rubbed his bearded cheek. "He's changed a lot ever since that time." She said nothing, and sat on the bench nearby, crossing her legs. "I remember he used to be a really nice kid, always friendly and joking around. We used to even talk every so often. Now he's only moody all the time, and got even scrawnier too. I thought at least he really cared about our Lady, seeing as how she's the only one he has left. I wonder why he suddenly ran off like that."

"Does it matter?" Mina snapped at last, and Thierry sheepishly shrugged until she continued to run her mouth. "They're all just spoiled brats, every one of them, and I'm sick of having to care about them all the time."

The sound of him striking her rang out loudly, and it attracted the attention of some of the other passengers near them. As soon as they looked over, they looked away, none wishing to attract the large Etrurian man's attention.

Mina's pale hand went up to cover the spot on her cheek where the plumes of red had already started to spread. She had to set her other hand down on the bench to prevent herself from toppling off of it.

Thierry leaned in close, the offending hand forming a finger that pointed at her accusingly.

"Don't forget your place, Mina. I've been tolerant enough of your bad attitude, but you do not just say what you please about our Lady. Do you understand?"

Her little lips twisted with humiliation and anger. But in the end, she did know her place. "I understand."

After, she fled inside the cabin still holding her cheek, leaving Thierry alone on the deck. He should have been more patient. But she had deserved it, and he had been mentoring her for far too long for this to form any real division between them. Perhaps he ought to go after her...

Instead, he remained there, looking towards the island. And he prayed earnestly for the Lady's victory, for Lionel's safety, for Mina's piety.

- o -

Lionel's complexion alarmed Elijah, and the Pheraen, assuming it had to do with seasickness, insisted on going off to find some sort of medication for him. The Etrurian was already naturally pale skinned, but in the backdrop of an overcast winter morning and his sickly expression, his face was positively gray. Lionel tried to protest, and began to say that it wasn't sickness, but the other boy had already run off.

The trip from Badon to Valor was only a few hours, but the weather made the voyage seem absurdly long. There were a surprising number of other passengers as well; the whole ferry was completely full. Fae didn't quite know where or how Elijah would be able to find any sort of medicine with all these crowds.

"I think you should tell him soon," Lionel said faintly.

"What?" Fae asked, wincing internally as she saw again how miserable he looked.

"I know it's really hard for you, but Elijah really should know. It's fine that you didn't tell him on the train, but..."

"I know, I'm sorry." She had yet to fulfill her part of their agreement. Though she had said she would tell Elijah of her identity before they reached their stop, she had been so nervous about it that Lionel told her it was fine to wait. For some reason, she was terrified about knowing how he might react, what he might think of her.

"I don't want to push you," the Etrurian continued, "but things are going to get really complicated when we get to the island, and it's important that he understands what we're all getting ourselves into."  
"What do you mean?" Fae asked, her fear suddenly heightened with his words. "What's going to happen?"

At this point, their companion returned with a bottled water and a few pills clutched in his hand. The best Elijah could do was come back with some sleeping medication, but Lionel refused it. He thanked him and accepted the water, however.

"I have to tell you two something," he said, wiping his mouth. Fae's heart lurched at first, because with the short conversation they just had, she thought that he was going to tell Elijah her secret. Before Lionel said anything more, however, Elijah shook his head.

"You should save your strength. Whatever it is, you can tell us after we land."

"No, it might get worse then. And I... I think I have to share this."

The two of them looked at each other, Fae with fear evident in her face, Elijah with confusion, but determination. Then, returning their attention to their companion, they nodded together. Lionel blew out his cheeks as he often did in habit, and exhaled slowly.

"Three years ago, the Way gathered together in Aquleia to perform a ceremony at the Tower of the Saint. My mother said that it was a very important ritual for the Way and that I had to be there. Ah, and... my... my sisters were to be there as well. But I... uh..." Lionel seemed conflicted at this point, as if he were struggling with his own words.

"Hey, take it easy," Elijah insisted again, his brow creased with concern. "You look awful.."

"Really, I'm not sick; it's that I'm terrified and confused," Lionel confessed almost angrily, his fists tight in his lap. "I'm afraid of what might happen to Irene. This feels too much like last time... I never should have left her..."

Fae gripped Lionel's arm, not sure what good it would do, but she wanted to make her physical presence beside him known. She spoke calmly, with all the assurance and confidence she could afford. It seemed to somehow have a positive effect; she could feel Lionel relax a little under her touch. "We're listening. What happened three years ago?"

"Do you remember when we first met, I told you that in the Way's texts, St. Elimine is to return when the first dragons are again seen in Elibe?"

Of course Fae remembered. Elijah nodded to indicate that he did too.

"There is a large, ancient structure on Valor Isle. Although now it has been reduced to tourism, there is a closed gate inside that has always been an occult hotspot."

"We went there on a school trip once," Elijah recalled, "At the Dragon's Gate there was a group that was trying to perform some sort of séance before the security guards chased them away. From what I gather, there's a lot of mystical speculation that the other side of the gate is another world."

"Yes. There are a lot of beliefs like that, the most prominent one being that beyond is the land where the last dragons were exiled. The Way holds this belief as well, and also to the idea that the final war will begin and end on Valor Isle, but this is to happen after the return of St. Elimine."

"So this ceremony..." Fae wondered aloud. She recalled Lionel mentioning his second sister, who had fallen to her death also three years ago. She had a feeling she was about to hear the details of that event now. She was soon validated.

"My twin sister, Lenore... she always had a recurring dream about that gate. Somehow my mother found out about it, and got in her head that it was a sign. Up until this time, by the way, Irene had been keeping her gift of healing a secret, because she suspected that the Way would try to exploit it. So my mother, who was the High Priestess... she wanted to offer Lenore's body to St. Elimine to claim, to be rebirthed into this world from the very place she ascended from it. That was the nature of the ceremony. Of death... and rebirth." Lionel spoke the next words with great bitterness. "If I had paid more attention to the Way's texts, I might have known sooner..."

"I don't understand," Elijah said, but the look on his face suggested that in part, he did understand.

"My mother was insane," Lionel said tightly, lining his voice with a venomous edge. "She was always a little unstable, but that night at the Saint's Tower, she was going to kill my sister. She had worked up the other members of the Way to a frenzy that no right-minded person would ever wish to be a part of. When I realized what was happening, Irene and I tried to help her escape, but we ended up finding ourselves outside, on the very top of the tower, with all other exits cut off. The High Priestess, in all her madness, a knife in her hand, came after us, fully intending to murder her own flesh and blood, her youngest child."

Lionel looked into the distance, white and cold as ever.

"And so, I killed her."

Fae felt a tremor pass through her. As intimidated as she had always been by Lionel, by his prophetic voice, by his lovely face and headstrong temper, these simple words were the most frightening delivery yet. They held in them another kind of terrible wonder. She no longer remembered the Lionel on the train, embarrassed for his lack of social niceties while trying to muster up the words of apology. She remembered the Lionel standing at the very edge of the roof with the shadows over his face. She remembered the petrifying uncertainty of not knowing whether he would jump.

Elijah's face was unchanged. She had no idea what he was thinking, and she could hardly guess what the proper reaction to someone who had just confessed to matricide would be. Lionel continued, his fear abated a little as he submerged into the memory.

"Standing in the darkness of the longest night of the world, I made a promise before God that I would protect my sisters. I had no other family aside from them, and if we three were alone against the world, so be it, because in my heart, from that moment on, I disowned the Way permanently. But it didn't matter, because even from the moment I lifted my hand against the woman who birthed and raised me, it was a promise without substance. He... I... in that struggle, Lenore died anyways. I was too weak."

Lionel took a drink of water to rinse away the emotion that his voice had started to betray. Elijah was the first to speak after a short silence.

"I'm sorry. You've been through a lot."

Fae felt like if she were to say those same words, she would have felt inadequate. Out of Elijah's mouth it was authentic, without a trace of pity or discomfort. Fae noticed Lionel's strange expression though, how he seemed still very bothered by something. It did not quite seem to be due to the fear to which he had confessed, but she could see that there seemed to be words on the tip of his tongue that he was unsure whether to speak. Even as he continued on, she could tell that what was coming out and what was on his mind were not completely congruent.

"I... I wanted you two to know, because those are the stakes I have raised for all of this. I would do anything for Irene, and now... we're back where it all began. She's been protecting us her whole life, and even now, the reason why she revealed her gift to the Way was to gain the power to protect me, because everyone still knows who killed the High Priestess. But now, they all believe that Lenore's sacrifice was what called Elimine to accept Irene as her vessel. It's absolute rubbish. They fit their beliefs conveniently into any circumstance, and Irene is trapped in that body of lies."

"There's something else," Fae said aloud, and she was not quite sure why. "There's something else that you're not telling us."

Lionel looked alarmed, and Elijah raised an eyebrow. Fae instead met the Etrurian's gaze, searching his face. He looked away.

"It's okay," she said quietly. Afterall, who was she to press him? She thought about Zeke as well, about that same sort of guarded look he constantly harbored. Everybody seemed to have something to protect. She gripped Lionel's hand in both of hers. It was ice-cold in her fingers. "You don't have to tell us. But I'll lend you all of my strength anyways. You're not alone."

"Mine too," Elijah said, setting a hand on Lionel's shoulder. "Don't fear the past. You're stronger than you know. "

"You..." Lionel looked between his two companions. At this moment, the ferry bell rang out, and the captain's voice, muffled and barely discernable, echoed out from the bullhorn mounted above the cabin. When the looked over the railing, they could see the shape of land in the mist, and a tall tower above that all.

Fae felt his hand tighten between hers.

"Thank you."

That was enough for now. They had come this far, though the time in between had been so short. They had no other choice but to help one another.

- o -

Something about the island made him feel like he was always in a shadow, despite the fact the town was very colorfully decorated for the Winter Festival. But contrary to his prediction that he would feel more ill once they landed, Lionel's coloring improved after they disembarked. Perhaps finally being open about the events of three years ago had been a necessary catharsis. Perhaps his new friends were exactly what he needed. Whatever the reason, he felt better. His fear was less smothering.

Despite the gravity of their circumstances, Fae seemed absolutely entranced by the decorations, the liveliness of the Festival and the light snow dusting the streets. It was the opening day of the celebrations, and travelers and artists from all the nations of Elibe crowded the streets and stood upon platforms, priming the tourists for the night's more extravagant activities.

Despite his fears, Lionel found himself loosening considerably as Fae gasped and pointed out the colors, the songs and dancing. She acted as if she had never seen such things before. Elijah joined in her wonderment, and Lionel knew that he was purposefully attempting to lighten their darkened moods when he suggested they stop and watch for a while.

But he allowed himself to be lightened. When Fae gasped in exaggerated amazement at a magician's conjuring of birds from a hat (a classic, but rudimentary trick at best), Lionel laughed along with Elijah.

"You have the best reactions to things," Elijah said to Fae, when she looked a little dismayed at their laughing at her. "You're like a little kid sometimes."

"I'm not!" Fae argued, her fists balled. "I... I was just surprised when they flew out like that!"

Lionel laughed to himself, hands in his pockets, content to watch their banter.

Initially, they had hoped that they would be able to ascertain Irene's whereabouts somehow by asking around. Surely, she was expected to attend some of the activities. The mist had lifted to reveal a day with completely clear skies. Lionel's eyes kept straying to the tower beyond the edges of the town.

Strangely enough, the one thing that kept coming to mind after their conversation on the ferry was Fae's observation. He had mulled over the events of his mother and twin's deaths too many times, turning over the thoughts over and over again in his mind, trying to numb the fear and hatred. But Fae had noticed that there was something else he had not told them. The whole time he had desperately wanted to tell them, that his whole story had, in a way, been a lie. He had been a lie...

But Irene had forbidden him to tell anybody, and he had made a promise. It was not only his secret to keep, but one that would endanger her as well. He wished so much that their positions could have been swapped, that he, instead of her, would have to suffer the pretense and fear...

_But I am living in pretense because of this, even more than Irene is. Are we doing the right thing? Is this the best way?_ he prayed to his God, and paused as if to wait for an answer. He closed his eyes, wondering if he would ever know for sure.

"Lionel!"

His eyes snapped open upon Elijah calling him, and he saw that his friends had already walked a small distance ahead of him. The Pheraen was beckoning him, gesturing towards where the crowds were gathered.

"They're amazing!" Fae gasped when he came close enough. He turned his attention to what they had been gesturing towards. On top of the red roof of a painted caravan, two performers stood above the crowd. Upon seeing them, Lionel registered the perfect sound of a violin singing on the breeze, the high notes soaring without sounding shrill. The fiddler was a tall, lanky man, his dark, evergreen hair like a thick mane over his shoulders. He was so majestic, his fingers loosely bent on the end of his bow, his bright smile unwavering.

The girl beside him danced and danced, her moves so sweeping and quick that Lionel was afraid she might fall off the roof. But she was perfect, and even from his low vantage he could tell each turn was a perfect circle. She was very young, and yet commanded great authority in each of her steps. Her feet were fitted with lovely cloth shoes that gleamed in the sunlight with each purposeful step.

The arts were truly an amazing thing, Lionel marveled. Here, in the presence of great beauty, he felt courage return to him.

Hours had passed before they finally decided that they had better begin their search. It was almost a reluctant realization, as it was too easy to get lost in the fantasy, in a world where only colors and laughter existed. Fae's face still glowed with the sights.

"We should stay together. The town is really big, so if something happens and we get separated, it'll be really hard to find each other again," Elijah said, when they sat by the fountain to take a short rest. Fae had in her hands a garland of flowers that some of the performers had tossed to the crowd. She held it almost like a crown- delicately, almost reverently.

"Sure," Lionel said, and Fae nodded. Elijah continued, but it seemed now that he was just thinking out loud.

"The Council itself is held at Valor Hall, as it has been traditionally for years." At this, he looked up the path, up the hill where a large, walled castle-like building was visible on the very top. Over its shoulder, the lonely figure of the Dragon's Gate stood beyond it. It was much too dark against the azure sky. "I think they do house the nations leaders there... so chances are pretty high that Governor Farey and Lionel's sister will be there. But it's also likely that-"

He stopped mid-sentence and sprang to his feet, instinctively spreading out his arm across his two companions in a shielding gesture.

"What is it?" Fae asked, and would have stood as well if it weren't for Elijah's arm before her.

"That Etrurian woman that attacked you in Ostia," Elijah said, and Lionel snapped to attention. "I just saw her in the crowd. She and a bearded man were watching us!"

"What?" Lionel pushed Elijah's hand out of the way and stood, frantically scanning the crowd that Elijah was facing. Thierry's bulk was too conspicuous to simply overlook, but he couldn't see either him or Mina in the sea of faces. "Why are you just standing there? We need to-"

"They ran away as soon as they saw me looking at them," he replied, slowly turning back. "They're not there anymore. I don't think they wanted me to see them."

Lionel didn't like that. It would have been much simpler if they had just barreled through the crowd to chase them down. This... he didn't know what to make of all this. Why were they biding their time?  
"Let's get out of here," he said nervously.

- o -

"The patient's family submitted a disclosure form," Elaine Hart was saying to her assistant on her way out. "Be sure to send them the records in the post before you leave."

Back in her laboratory in Ostia, she had returned to her perfectly organized and planned world. It had been a week since her appointment with Dr. Lyman at the cafe, and she had not seen or heard from him since. That suited her fine.

And yet...

He had left his book open on the table, exposed to the page with the photograph of the dragons on the tapestry. Disgusted, she had fully intended to leave it there. But she hadn't. It was sitting on her table at home, still opened to that page.

Truth be told, while girls her age had been enthralled by stories of princesses and knights, Elaine had an extended dragon stage in her childhood like most Bernese boys did. She played with her brother's figurines and read all the picture books in her house about the Scouring. It had even been her motivation to study wyverns in college.

So it was extra galling when Ezekiel Lyman had broached the topic with her, as if somehow he had known.

Damn him. What game was he playing? She was too busy doing science to indulge in fairy tales like this. And yet... Fae's blood samples had been legitimate. That girl...

After a long day of clinicals and errands, she put on her coat and stepped out into the University of Ostia's campus. It was bitterly cold, so she released her hair to keep her neck warm. As she was slipping the elastic into one of her pockets, she felt a strange sensation that she was being watched.

She turned, and saw a man standing by another entrance jerk and look away. He had clearly been looking at her just the moment before, but she pretended not to notice, and went on her way.

As soon as she got into her car, she locked the doors and took a deep breath. She didn't understand why she was feeling so spooked. It was not like her at all.

Before starting the engine, Elaine checked around to be sure that she was alone in the parking lot. Perhaps that man just happened to be looking at her at that moment and had meant no harm. When she turned around, her eye glanced at the pile of envelopes on the floor of the passenger's seat. She vaguely remembered tossing some mail aside that day she angrily left her laboratory with Fae's blood analysis. That felt like an eternity ago.

Pulling up the papers, she placed them on the passenger's seat, but was just too tired to look through them at the moment, even if the mail was old and should have been tended to a while ago. She just wanted to get home as soon as possible, take a soothing shower and go to bed.

….Damn it.

She turned on ignition. The engine roared to life as she switched on the headlights.

Perhaps she would send Dr. Lyman an email in the morning.


	15. XIV Our Lady

**Age of Pretense**

Fire Emblem: The Sword of Seals and the Blazing Sword

by eolianstar

[Lionel's invitation]

_The Elibean Council, at the special invitation of Governor Lysander Farey,_

_request the pleasure of the company of Virginia Kuto and one guest_

_at a reception to be held at Valor Hall_

_at the 7th hour of the evening of 17 Fimbulvetr, 3012._

**XIV. Our Lady**

Elaine Hart was not able to send any such email the next morning, because very early the following day, she received an urgent phone call that brought her back to her laboratory a few hours earlier than she would have wanted.

The laboratory itself had been left alone, thank God. There were quite a few radioactive nucleotides and markers in their reagent freezer, and if any of them had shown signs of being tampered with, it would have been nothing but auditing and paperwork for a whole month straight with Occupational Safety.

It was her office. She stood in the doorway, aghast at the destruction. Filing cabinets drawers had been pulled out, some drawers drawn out completely and laying sideways on the ground, spilling out all of their contents. Her computer had been stolen, but more than that, it was obvious that someone had been searching for something. Torn papers and folders formed a thin layer over the ground. They had been the products of years and years of paperwork and records that she had meticulously organized and dated.

She sought out each of her lab notebooks first. Once she had made certain that her precious research was still safe, she sat, still in shock, in her chair after brushing some papers off the seat.

"Who could have done this?"

It was surreal. This was the sort of thing that happened in mystery novels and movies. But as she sat in the wreckage that had once been her academic sanctuary, the weight of everything began to push down on her until she felt plastered to her seat.

Elaine spent the better part of the rest of the day speaking with the police and the university insurance representatives. Aside from her computer, nothing valuable had been taken. It was the clean-up process that would take up the most time and resources. Her colleagues attempted to give her some words of condolence upon hearing about her misfortune, but she merely shrugged it off.

When she returned to her vehicle and sat down with a deep exhalation, she sat and tried to process through everything again. It was already late afternoon, and she still had a few appointments at the clinic that she had to attend.

The old mail still sat upon the passenger's seat, left untouched from the night before. Something about the way the envelopes splayed out on the leather cushion reminded her of the mess in her office. Elaine paused, and then reached out for the small bundle, sorting through the envelopes and taking out the ones she immediately knew would go to the trash unopened.

The largest envelope had been sent from her country. She drew it closer to her eyes, and could see that it was postmarked from her alma mater in Bern. Curious now, she tore the lip open and pulled out the contents.

There were a few photographs, a short note and a packet of papers that looked like a genetic code. Elaine looked at the pictures first, and then frowning, moved onto the cryptic note.

_Elaine,_

_This is the sequence extracted from the DNA of a fossil discovered in Bern. They do not know that I've sent this to you, so keep it hidden, do not speak of it, show it to no one. I am afraid if I do not make this known now somehow, I will not have the opportunity to do so in the future. When the time comes, use this evidence, but be sure that you have friends that can protect you. I'm sorry to involve you, Elaine. But I have no one else to turn to._

It was not signed, but she would recognize that handwriting anywhere. With trembling fingers, she moved the note to the back of the stack to take a look at the code.

An instant later, she stuffed everything back into the envelope, placed it in her bag and almost ran back to her laboratory. It would be the first time in her medical career to miss an appointment.

- o -

The town grew in splendor the longer the day went on. The last time Elijah had been to Valor was during the summer holiday when the heat was near unbearable, but now, snow gleamed beside the ornaments on every roof, every tree. Ribbons and curtains and lights donned every crevice, and every stand flew the colors and flags of the nations they represented.

The longer they asked around and walked through the festival, the more unlikely it seemed that they would happen to run into information about Irene's whereabouts. There were a couple more days until the night of the winter solstice, which gave them a little time... but Elijah had underestimated the magnitude of their search. The fact that people seemed more interested in enjoying themselves than in the happenings of the Elibean Council compounded their difficulties.

Upon another failed attempt to solicit information from a passerby, he sighed, his breath materializing in the cold air. When he turned, he was met with a very red-faced Lionel beside a laughing Fae coming up the street on the other side of the plaza. Considering how pale Lionel had been this whole time, it was quite an improvement. He was holding something in his hand, but seemed too mortified to look at it, holding it away from him as if it were something rancid. On the other hand, Fae still held the garland of flowers she had received from the festivities, and she waved it eagerly at him.

"What's so funny now?" Elijah asked with a smile of his own, resting a hand on his side. Fae took Lionel by the crook of the elbow and just about dragged him up to Elijah's side. The mirth reached her eyes, making them even brighter and more striking.

"A really pretty girl came by and... Lionel, just show him what she gave you!"

He looked as if he wanted to throw it away immediately. It was a folded scrap of paper. Ah, Elijah understood. He perched a forearm on Lionel's shoulder to peer more closely at it, deepening the Etrurian's embarrassment.

"Look at that! Only a few hours and you've already landed yourself a girl's phone number. Well done, sir," Elijah laughed, giving Lionel's shoulder a hearty grasp of congratulations. Lionel, disgruntled, merely mumbled something incoherent. Fae looked on mischievously.

"That's not all," she said, and Lionel threw her an exasperated look.

"Fae!"  
She laughed with her finger curled against her lip. "But it would be so rude to turn her down after she mustered up all that courage to speak to you!"

"Come now!" Elijah goaded, leaning more heavily upon Lionel so as to physically symbolize the mounting peer pressure. "Don't leave me in suspense!"

Lionel reluctantly unfolded the paper, which contained a small card tied with a ribbon. The curly font printed on it suggested that it was a ticket, or perhaps an invitation, of some kind.

"There's some fancy reception going on tonight," Lionel said holding it up, trying to exude as much disinterest as possible. Elijah put a hand on the card to angle it in a more readable position. "She's apparently some sort of performer and can invite one free guest. But I don't have time for such frivolities, we have to-"

"You should go," Elijah said, but Lionel missed the seriousness the Pheraen had adopted in his tone. He stepped back, causing the card to slip out of Elijah's hand.

"Stop joking around. We only have a few more nights until-"

"I'm being serious," Elijah said, placing his hands in his pockets. "Did you even look at who's hosting the reception?"

That drew a blank. Fae perked up in surprise as well. Together they went to investigate for themselves, craning in silence over the invitation. Lionel was quite unimpressed.

"You've got to be kidding me."

- o -

The trip had been very uncomfortable. Rolana had never before had such an extended time alone with her mentor, but now she realized how painfully awkward it would be. Had been.

Zeke was really worried. She knew it beyond a doubt, because within that calm exterior, she felt the tension of a terrible restlessness. His uncustomary silence was also a little unnerving; Rolana distinctly noticed that he let many opportunities to make an inappropriate or flirtatious comment pass by. Very unusual.

"Are you all right?" she asked him when they boarded the train to Badon. "You seem really out of it."

"Do I?" he answered as they sat. He looked exhausted. "I'm trying to get over the uncanny notion that in all appearances, we look like we're eloping together."

Oh... never mind.

Most of train ride was marked by silence. Rolana was constantly wishing she had something worthy to say, something that they could talk about lightly, something to distract from the issue at hand. She had her own problems to deal with, her upcoming dissertation review among not the least of them, but at the moment, Ezekiel's agitated company was the thing bothering her the most.

Secretly, she was glad to be there. If all she could do was to bring him some coffee and the morning newspaper, it was enough. Even if she wanted to help, she knew she couldn't. Professor Lyman had always done things his own way, alone. It was unreasonable to hope for more, and so she had to be content with being allowed to accompany him.

"You really ought to sleep more," she tried to tell him later as he looked blankly between his notes with tired eyes. She had returned with a steaming paper cup in one hand, breakfast in the other. They had just entered into the county of Badon, and were just minutes away from arriving at its main city. He gestured to the seat across from him, and she sat down, placing their provisions on the table.

"Thank you," he said, and sipped the coffee. He said nothing more than this, and silence reclaimed the car.

They had been waylaid with some setbacks, especially when they were mislead by the trio's sudden change in destination on the train originally destined for Bern. Rolana had tried multiple times to call Elijah's mobile, but each time it went directly to his voicemail. She promised herself that once they found him, she would knock that red head clear off his shoulders without mercy.

As if taunting her frustrations, her phone went off, its tone shockingly loud against the silence of the car. It startled Zeke, who spilled some coffee over his hand and cursed. She apologized, and was about to just reject the call until she noticed the name that flashed across the caller ID.

_What?_

"Wait a moment," she told him after picking up, and excused herself. After locking herself into the lavatory down the hall, she replaced the phone over her ear and spoke in a whisper. "What are you doing?"  
"Hey, sis," her stepbrother answered amiably. He spoke in his Bernese accent, but it was so natural she almost didn't notice. "Don't worry, nobody will overhear us- at least not at my end. You won't believe where I am."

"I'm supposing not at Bern Keep, where you're supposed to be stationed?"

"No. I'm on Valor Isle."

"What? Why?"

"Things just ended up that way... some of us back home got assigned to watch over Irene Ivaldi, so my official order is to be your backup if you need it. You're taking a long time in getting here."

Rolana pinched the bridge of her nose. Being a step behind her junior was the last thing she needed at the moment. It was bad enough that apparently he had already come into contact with the Ivaldi siblings long before she had even heard of them. She supposed that's what she bargained for when she opted to remain in domestic intelligence. Foreign always got the inside scoop.

It couldn't be helped. She had to stay in Ostia if she wanted to pursue her doctorate studies. Her title as a graduate student wasn't just a cover, after all. And there was no way she would conduct her research and write her thesis on Lady Lilina abroad.

"Yes, I know. I had some bad information."

"Your man is with you, right?"

"Don't call him that."

"Sorry."

"Is there anything else you wanted to tell me?"

"I miss you."

She leaned against the sink, and observed her own tired eyes in the mirror. She also noticed that she had been smiling, which she immediately shook off.

"Ugh. Okay. I guess I might see you soon then."

"Don't sound so excited now."

"Hush. Be careful, okay? And don't call me unless it's urgent. It's dangerous for you."

"Yah. Later."

When she got off the phone, she sighed heavily and passed a hand over her face. There was something going on, and her superior wasn't telling her anything. Zeke wasn't telling her anything...

Frustrating. She was around so many frustrating people. For someone whose purpose was to obtain and pass along information, she seldom seemed to be on the receiving end of the same service.

She was fairly certain that the professor was on to her. He had to be. But no matter. Rolana was starting to feel that discretion and being well informed were quickly becoming luxuries she could no longer expect. She would perform her duty in spite of it, and she would perform it admirably.

- o -

Elijah had packed a dress shirt and a tie, although there had been no plausible reason why he would have needed them. It was best to be prepared, and he found that having at least one set of formal clothes on hand was a good practice. Undoubtedly, that had been one of the many lessons he had learned from his Ostian internship. It proved to be true now.

Lionel was smaller than he was, so the shirt hung off of him more loosely than Elijah would have liked. St. Elimine, he was skinny. He had a surprisingly girlish figure, despite his height. Elijah swore that the next time they stopped to eat, he would make sure that Lionel ate a good portion.

Despite this though, the change complemented his Etrurian features rather nicely. He looked nice, Elijah decided in the end, but even if Lionel were appropriately dressed, he would still look ill-prepared for the occasion if he didn't do something about that absolutely miserable expression..

"You should... I dunno... maybe smile more?" Elijah suggested as they waited in a small crowd of people outside of Valor Hall. Fae flanked the other side of Lionel, holding all of their bags as Elijah helped adjust the other boy's tie.

"What?" Lionel appeared very distracted, perhaps a little embarrassed with all the attention towards his appearance.

"You know... the thing people do with their faces when they're happy?" As soon as he said it, he regretted it, realizing that Lionel's circumstances had been anything but happy. Lionel appeared not to take any offense, but he continued to look miserable.

"You're better suited for something like this than I am, Elijah," he muttered. "I wish it were you who had been invited."

"What are you saying? You'll be fine. You're as charming a guest as any," Elijah reassured him. "Just be confident! Since you're good-looking, your work is already cut out for you and most people will naturally be nicer to you. What? Don't look at me like that, it's a statistically proven fact."

Lionel flushed.

"Don't worry, Elijah and I will try to be there as soon as we can," Fae said, jumping in to provide further encouragement. "Just remember we're here to help your sister. We'll definitely find her."

"Yeah. Chances are very good that she'll be there. You just need to pass her the note that will communicate our plan of escape. Do you remember our rendezvous point? Everything we planned?" Elijah asked.

"Of course," Lionel began, stealing a glance towards the hall, "But if Lysander is there, what if he sees me? I have to do all of this basically under his nose."

"Just stay out of the open areas," Elijah advised. "You'll be fine. Trust me."

Fae suddenly appeared to remember something, and touched the zipper of Lionel's bag. "Lionel! You... You should bring your tome... just in case."

Elijah looked at her quizzically, but Lionel nodded grimly. She unzipped the bag and pulled out that curious golden book. He took it in both hands, and he seemed almost grateful to have it back in his immediate possession.

"Thank you."

The Pheraen was just about to ask about it when the clocktower from the town rang out, declaring the seventh hour. Lionel lowered the book to his side and glanced back towards the hall. "I guess I should go."

"Good luck," Elijah said, letting the matter drop. He clasped the Etrurian's shoulder one last time for good measure. "Really. Everything will be great."

"Yes," Fae agreed, and she was holding the flower garland in her hands again, twisting it as if it gave her some comfort. "We'll see each other soon."

Lionel allowed himself a smile, and as Elijah thought, he looked infinitely more presentable.

"Yeah."

He only looked back one more time to wave as he was carried away by the crowd, his book in one hand, the invitation in the other. Fae and Elijah waited there, watching his golden head disappear from view. Afterwards, there was a pause between the two of them, though they really ought to have left immediately to prepare for the next stage in their plan.

Elijah had wanted to bring up a few things for a while. He would have been stupid to not notice the meaningful glances that his two companions shared with each other, the pursed lips as if they wanted to say something. Up until this point, despite the gravity and magnitude of what they were doing, he had remained silent. Now, however, as he and Fae were alone, with her fingers anxiously brushing through the yellow flower petals, he felt as though she wanted him to say something first.

"That book has something to do with that light we saw in Ostia, doesn't it?" He put his hands in his pockets and continued to look ahead, not focusing on anything in particular, but staring.

He felt Fae's eyes before he saw them. When he turned to look down at her, she nodded, clutching the garland more tightly in both hands. "Irene is not the only one who is special. Lionel is too... I have not met anyone like him in many years."

"Magic?" She was visibly startled at this, her unblinking eyes searching his face, as if she suspected him of suggesting it out of sarcasm or cruelty. He continued on, stepping on a prominent white stone on the ground, pushing it into the dirt. "Literature and folktales talk about mages that were able to cast spells from books. I guess it wasn't just metaphorical or mythical though, huh?"

"I..." Fae breathed, and Elijah smiled.

"Here, I'll take my and Lionel's bags. We'll talk as we walk."

She passed them to him, and together they began to descend the hill. The paths were still dense with foot traffic, and in some areas, where there wasn't enough room for the two of them to walk side-by-side, Elijah allowed her to go ahead of him, keeping an eye on their surroundings.

"It's a relief, actually," Elijah finally said when the noise had faded enough for them to be able to hear one another. "Knowing that Lionel has an ability like that makes me feel much better about all this. It's probably even more useful than my fencing, huh? To be honest, I was a little nervous in the beginning. We're just three kids out in a really big world. But now I'm starting to think that I'm actually the only kid out of the three of us."

Somehow, the garland had ended up in his hands. It had probably happened when Fae had passed him the boys' bags. They were flowers with big heads, not unlike the sunflowers that grew in front of his house in Pherae. They did make him feel a little better.

"Elijah, I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry."

It was so strange to hear those words come from her mouth. He came to an abrupt stop upon hearing them, frowning at her as she looked down. He had just managed to catch sight of her shining eyes, and he realized she on the verge of tears.

"Fae, what… what's wrong?"

"You've been so gracious to me. Your kindness has been so hard to bear… Lionel wanted me to tell you a long time ago. But… somehow I couldn't find the words, and I… I still couldn't tell you."

Amazed, he looked from her downcast face, to her trembling hands, and then back to her face.

"Silly." Elijah laughed, and placed the garland on her head. It drooped down over her eyes, and she put a hand on it in surprise. "Stop pressuring yourself to do something you don't want to do. It's fine, really. I understand."

"But…" Fae blinked, her green gaze still glistening in the dying sunlight. "But I…"

"Hm…" He replaced his hands in his pockets, thinking quickly to muster up the right words. "It's kind of like when my mother didn't tell me right away that my father had died, even after weeks of me asking her when he would come home. It was because she couldn't bear the truth of it, and she needed time to understand it… to accept it. Sure, I guess you can call that selfish, but it was so hard for her. In a way, it was to protect me too, so that she could be strong enough to bear my grief as well. I don't blame her. I won't blame you or Lionel either. We're in some pretty deep stuff, huh?"

"Elijah…" Fae crinkled her brow, and he was afraid for a moment that she might actually start crying.

"S-so don't worry about it!" he insisted, waving a hand dismissively. "Honestly, we don't really know each other that well, so I probably just need to gain your trust more. Until then, let's do what we have to do to help the people that we care about, yeah?"

Hm… did that sound cheesy? He smiled a little at himself. This was why all of his co-interns, Zeke and Rolana all told him he was too naïve and idealist to survive in the political world. After rewinding his own words in his head, he himself almost winced.

Long after the proceeding silence had become awkward, she finally spoke.

"The truth is…"

Fae clenched her hand, one hand straying towards the pocket of her jacket.

But whatever she was going to say or do next was completely lost. She gasped, and spun around so quickly that it made Elijah jump. Her change in countenance was so immediate, so violent that Elijah felt a pang of her alarm. She was searching the crowds, her posture rigid, her expression aghast.

"What is it? What happened?"

"That… that presence…" She was turned away from him, looking back towards Valor Hall.

"What?" Without warning, she took off into the crowd. Elijah barely had time to react before she disappeared completely. "Fae!"

She was smaller and more agile, and her urgency and speed blossomed the sense of alarm he had sensed in her before. He pushed through the people, trying to gasp apologies as he did so, trying to keep her in sight.

What had gotten into her? Honestly, he felt a little bit annoyed that it had happened right when it seemed like she was just about to tell him something important. After a little while, the irritation evolved into concern when he realized that he had lost her. He stopped at the fork in the path, spinning around, trying to catch his breath as he desperately searched through the sea of pedestrians.

It was impossible. She was shorter than the average person there, so even if she was near, the crowds made it impossible for him to see her. Anxiously running a hand through his hair, he tried to keep his reflex to panic under control.

Lionel was counting on them to set up the next phase of their plan. Even now, he was probably feeling every painful second as he counted down the minutes before Fae and Elijah were supposed to act. What could he do? He couldn't possibly leave Fae alone and move without her—what if something happened to her?

"St. Elimine," he panted between breaths. With his ears blaring with every heartbeat and his nerves on end, he pressed back into the crowd, hoping desperately she would turn up soon.

- o -

It was undeniably the same feeling she had felt twice before in Ostia—the first time when she had been at the University with Rolana, the second time when she was by herself at the coliseum after Elijah's fencing match. But it was stronger this time. It felt familiar and forbidding simultaneously. She wondered how she could have possibly failed to recognize it the two times before.

It had even spoken this time, and uttered a name so close to her that even though she had not heard it in many many years, she would have recognized it if it had been the slightest whisper. The tongue was so ancient, the words only accessible to the ears of her people…

Impossible!

And yet…

Fae was sure that she was following it. It was definitely moving ahead of her, and she was just at the tail. Her senses picked it up like a scent trail, and she didn't realize how tired she was or how far she had run until it started to fade away. She stopped to catch her breath, leaning on her knees.

She looked around. Somehow, she was completely alone, having long left behind the crowds. She was in the shadow of Valor Hall, so close to it that someone looking out a window would have seen her clearly. There was a path leading further down the hill, towards the back of the castle.

The feeling persisted, though it felt more distant now. The realization that she had left behind Elijah struck her then, and touching her head, she discovered that the garland had fallen off during her flight. She debated momentarily what to do, caught between the responsibility of having to go back, and the hope of what she might find if she were to go forward.

_Fae_…

No, that wasn't right. But there was no adequate way to translate it. She remembered why that human abbreviation was so vile, so unjust compared the sound of her full name. When it reached out to her again, she realized that it wasn't just speaking-it was calling out to her!

All thoughts of Elijah and his concern for her completely disappeared. Swallowing the rawness of her throat, she sprinted down the rest of the trail, passed through a stone archway, through a garden covered in frost. The presence moved just beyond her reach every time.

She ran up to the stone patio right next to the building before she had to stop again. Each breath ripped into her throat and tasted faintly of blood. Wiping her face, she recovered slowly, the black spots eventually fading from her sight. Perhaps she had pushed herself too far…

The tinkling of glass reached her ears. She looked up.

Between the patio and the castle, there was a partially enclosed pavilion with a table and a few chairs. The girl sitting there seemed to just notice her then, and set her teacup down upon a matching saucer. Instead of a jacket, she wore a cloak of Eliminean purple that was tied at her neck. It brought out the blondeness of her hair, the clarity of her cerulean eyes.

Fae straightened, and Irene Ivaldi too, rose from her seat.

"So," she said, her face as creamy and fragile as a porcelain doll's, "you've come."

- o -

_A/N_:

_Hi all :D Just a couple things!_

_1. I forgot to put in the intro to the last chapter. Not super important, but if you happen to like them, it's up now!_

_2. If you haven't noticed, there's actually a poll on my FFN profile for your favorite character in AOP! It's actually been up for quite a while, but I thought I would draw more attention to it now since I'm more curious now which characters people like. It's anonymous, so if you're more of a lurker sort, no fear! I don't even know which users vote, let alone who they vote for. Please vote! _

_And thank you all again for reading. I'm still learning a lot, so if you ever have any complaints or whatnot, give me a holler! See y'all again in two weeks for the next chapter!_


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